


The Long Path

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Arrangements [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Developing Relationship, F/M, Nakia and Okoye are Best Friends, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: Okoye turned the page of her magazine. "Any closer to figuring out what is your kind of job?”Glancing over, Nakia said, “You once put the idea of being a spy in my head, and I still can’t shake it.”"When you tell T'Challa about how you're running off to be a spy, do not blame it on me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, like everyone else in the world with a brain, we loved Black Panther. This is one of two stories that came in the immediate aftermath of watching it. We could not watch Nakia and T'Challa banter and tease without wondering a the history there and this is our version of it.
> 
> A companion story, starring Shuri, will be posting in tandem with this one.

When Nakia was six years old, she’d come home from school with an assignment. Each student in the class was to dress up in a costume of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Her mother didn’t even ask, just dressed her up as a Dora Milaje, and sent her on her way.

Everyone thought it was so adorable. She would be just like her Mama, of course, who had guarded the king before she’d married the Chief of the River Tribe and settled in to a life of ceremonial events and chasing children. 

It was impossible for her to imagine her mother that way, but the reverse was not true. Mama saw the course of Nakia’s life like it was written in stone. Like the costume, it didn’t quite fit, but no one ever asked her.

When she was sixteen, she was sent to start her training. 

It was hard. But she was tough, and stubborn, and afraid of disappointing her parents. She was also unbelievably miserable.

"Why the sad face?" a voice asked, accompanied by a hand dangling a slice of mango in front of her. "You nailed that flip this morning."

Okoye of the Border tribe sat next to her, eating her own piece of mango.

Nakia took the fruit. “Thank you. And I am fully capable of succeeding at something and still hating it.”

She nodded like she understood. "You don't like any of the training.”

“The training is useful.”

"But?" the other woman asked, arching a brow.

“I don’t think I want to use it.”

"You don't want to be a Dora?”

Nakia winced. “Not particularly, no.”

"Then why are you here?”

She could see children from the nearby village playing in the field just outside the training campus, and she watched them a moment. “Because the alternative is to go home in shame and defeat, I suppose.”

"There is no shame in recognizing you're on the wrong path," Okoye said. "To continue being miserable when you know how to stop it is foolish.”

“You can say that because you won’t have to live with my mother.”

She smirked. "Your mother. . . she was the general once, wasn't she?”

“Oh, good, her reputation precedes me.”

"I hear things," Okoye said, with a wave of her hand. "I can see how that would be a big shadow to grow up in.”

“This has always been her expectation. And I just. . . cooperated.” Nakia sighed. “I think I am too soft to be a warrior. If I had the temperament for it, I could stand up to my mother. But then, if I had the temperament for it, I suppose I’d want to stay.”

"I have always wanted to be a Dora," Okoye admitted. "Coming here only confirmed it was the right path for me. But I can understand that it would not be right for everyone." She looked at Nakia. "And if your mother was any kind of general, she should understand the same.”

“She can understand that and think I’m a failure at the same time.”

"Only if you give up. You need to find your path.”

“I mean I am pretty good at this. I am.” There was absolutely no point in false modesty. Okoye liked to call people on their shit. “If you hated it here, and you wanted to go home. . . your tribe would have use of your skills.” The Border Tribe was full of warriors—they defended Wakanda’s perimeters with both deception and force. Some of them were genuinely sheep herders, but most people did both. They were, unsurprisingly, two to one of any tribe in the Dora. “I don’t want to run a tourist or fishing outfit and I certainly don’t want to get into the priesthood.” Nakia was River Tribe, and that was what her people tended to do with their lives.

Okoye lifted a shoulder. "There are ways to be a warrior without being a Dora. Have you thought about being a War Dog?”

“Isn’t that invitation-only?” She didn’t think you could just knock on the palace door and sign up to be a spy.

"Yes but there are. . . ways to get noticed." She grinned at Nakia, showing teeth. "I hear things.”

Nakia looked at her a long moment. “Leaving Wakanda sounds kind of. . . terrifying.”

"It does. And I've heard it can be a lonely life. Lying about who you are, even to those close to you. It's not for everyone. Just like the Dora.”

“Oh, I’m really good at lying about my feelings,” Nakia said. “And hey, my mother wouldn’t be there.”

"That is true. And no one would say you were a failure.”

Nakia shook her head. “Still may fall into the category of Crazy Pipe Dream.”

"But is it a dream that appeals to you?”

“Yeah. A little. I think.”

"That's a start then.”

Nakia rubbed the sticky mango juice on her pants. “Lets just see if I survive training, eh?”

"That'd be an even better start.”

She bumped Okoye’s shoulder with hers. “Thanks. You’re good people.”

She smiled and nodded thoughtfully. "I know.” Nakia laughed and rolled her eyes.

The first year of training the girls lived in barracks-style arrangements, everybody in bunks in a big room. After that they were allowed to share small rooms with a roommate, and Nakia and Okoye shared one. Okoye was gregarious and daring seemed determined to pull Nakia out of her safe, comfortable shell. 

And man, could that woman drink.

"The key is to ignore the drunk feelings," she told her solemnly one night at the bar. "And one glass of water for every two drinks.”

“Only you could just decide not to feel drunk.”

"Mind over matter, Sister. It's a way of life.” 

“You are a force to be reckoned with,” Nakia replied.

“But I do have to go to the bathroom.” She took that glass of water thing seriously. 

Nakia went with her, because of course. “I picture you one day, giving partying lectures to your baby Dora minions. You’ll be all cantankerous and middle aged and still drinking them under the table.

She grinned, ducking into the bathroom stall. "I like that. I'd love a little clutch of baby Doras.”

The door swung open with a burst of noise from the bar, and it was a girl yelling at someone that they can’t follow. She ducked inside and it was clear she was crying—makeup smeared all over her face. She staggered over to the sink to put water on her face. “You okay?” Nakia asked.

“My. . .stupid ex boyfriend showed up.” She sniffled. “With a bunch of his stupid friends. He won’t leave me alone.”

"How many friends?" Okoye called from inside the stall.

“Oke,” Nakia called warning. Even though it was probably inevitable. They were going to have to help this poor girl out of the bar one way or the other.

“Four,” the girl was saying. She took a shuddery breath. “He told me he was going to drag me home by my hair.”

Okoye practically burst from the stall. “This is why we don’t have have hair. Why give your enemy a handhold?”

The girl looked from one to the other. She supposed the two of them with their matching shaved heads looked really obvious. “Are you-?”

“Yes,” said Okoye.

“No,” said Nakia. She huffed. “We’re in training.” She turned to Okoye and muttered, “And I think public fighting is against the rules.”

"Who is fighting?" Okoye said innocently. "I'm merely suggesting we make sure our new friend here gets home safely.”

“They’re really big guys,” the girl said. “And they’re drunk.”

Okoye's smile widened. "That will make this more fun." She arched a brow at Nakia. “Ready?"

Nakia dipped her head in a gesture of agreement. “We’re gonna get expelled.”

"On the bright side, that might solve a problem for you.”

Okoye went out first, followed by the girl, followed by Nakia. Sure enough, there was a big muscly dude and his big muscly friends. He ignored the two of them and reached for their charge. Okoye reached out and smacked his hand like he was a wayward toddler.

“Mind your own business, bitch,” he snarled. 

"A man touching my sister without her permission is my business," she informed him.

"She isn't your sister."

"All women are sisters in the face of bullying men. Touch her again and lose your hand.”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he said, grabbing Okoye's arm and giving her a shove. She moved, faster and more graceful than any person who’s had that much to drink ought to be able to, grabbing his wrist and using his own body weight as leverage. She yanked him right off his feet and kneed him in the nuts on the way down. He shrieked.

Nakia shoved their new friend from the bathroom behind her and crouched into a fighting stance in case this did become a full bar brawl. The guy on the floor was moaning like she just ripped out his kidneys. Nakia looked at his friends, standing there with their mouths open like they wanted to catch flies. “Anybody else want a turn?” she asked them.

They frantically shook their heads and immediately abandoned their friend.

Okoye dusted her hands off. "Every day I thank Bast for hanging men's greatest weakness between their legs.”

People were staring at them now, and Nakia hustled the girl and Okoye towards the door.

"That was awesome!" the girl squeaked once they were out on the street. "Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Nakia said. “If he shows up at your place, call the police.”

She nodded. "I will, don't worry."

"Would you like us to walk you home?" Okoye asked.

“I’m going to say yes to that.”

"Lead the way.”

She didn’t live very far, and she hugged them both at her door. It was only after they left Nakia realized they’d never even gotten her name. “I admit that was somewhat fun,” she told Okoye.

She slung an arm around her. "See? I know how to show you a good time.”

“Maybe that’s it, you know? That’s what I should do. Protect weak people. Not a man strong enough to throw a rhino.” She held up a hand. “No offense.”

Okoye shrugged easily. "None taken. And I think that is a worthy path.”

“Good. Now I just need to figure out how. Probably, you know, when I’m sober.” She turned to her friend. “Seriously, how the hell did you that, you had like 6 drinks?”

"I told you. Just ignore the drunk feelings.”

That was not the last time they beat up some asshole in a bar. Nakia still wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to do with herself. Training was intense and she found she’d rather do fun things with her friends that contemplate her future in what small bits of free time she had.

By their third year, nearly two-thirds of their original class had washed out. That was pretty standard for Dora training. She could have let herself wash out. But she did at least stay now more for her friendship with Okoye than she did for fear of her mother.

She actually gave serious consideration to staying, full stop.

"Have you given any thought to graduation?" Okoye asked one night over dinner.

“Flee the country?”

She snorted. "You could just. . . say no.”

“I know.” Nakia poked at her food. “You keep telling me you’re tired off hearing me talk about it, but you also keep bringing it up.”

"Because I want you to make a decision.”

“You know, if you do nothing and don’t make decisions, eventually life just happens and decides for you.”

"That sounds like a very healthy way to go through life.”

“I come from a long line of emotionally repressed people.” She pointed her for at Okoye. “But I will have you know, I actually had a conversation with my father about it.”

"Was it an actual conversation or was it a series of passive aggressive statements you meekly agreed to?”

“I didn’t- I don’t meekly agree to things.”

Okoye arched a pointed brow, and stabbed a piece of pork. "What did you discuss?”

“Political shenanigans.” She sighed. “So I didn’t, like, technically tell him I didn’t want to be a Dora—“

"But?" Okoye prompted around a mouthful of food.

“He told me that he hadn’t brought it up with my mother yet, but he was having some conversations with the King about an opportunity that was interesting but would make it ‘highly politically awkward’ if I were a Dora. He wanted to take my temperature before tackling my mother.”

"How did you manage to contain yourself from packing up and immediately running off?”

Nakia sopped up some sauce with her bread. “Because he’s talking to the King about my Arrangement.” Okoye stopped mid-chew and raised her eyebrows, so Nakia added, “Yeah.”

Wakanda had a lot of traditions that evolved from the Old Ways. They’d matured and adapted as society modernized. For example, very long ago, the Dora Milaje had been a harem. Wakanda’s coronation ceremony for new rulers involved ritual combat, where the heir could be challenged to a literal fight to the death for the throne. It had long become a ceremonial ritual, and no one had issued a genuine challenge in generations. And it had once been very common for most marriages to be arranged. It had evolved (or devolved) eventually into a ritual of sorts where parents got together and set up their children as a. . . suggestion. A symbol of family bonds. It was a rite of passage in early adulthood. You were not required to marry this person. Some parts of the country took is very seriously, following old traditional and sending the two young people off to spend time alone before making a decision. Other parts treated it as a vestigial ceremonial event to go through the motions of after a couple had independently chosen to marry. She had no idea where the royal family fell on that spectrum.

"The prince is a handsome man," Okoye offered neutrally.

“That’s not the point.”

"Frustrated your options are Dora or brood mare?”

“I’m concerned there will be expectations. It’s not like we’re farmers.” She held up her hands. “No offense. You know what I mean. The whole damn country will be paying attention.”

"It would be awkward trying to decide if you actually like someone with an audience of thousands.”

“But it would buy me time to figure my shit out. I’m just worried that I won’t have the backbone to extricate myself.” 

" _I_ didn't want to be the one to say it.”

Nakia stared at her plate, not sure she was even hungry anymore. “What would you do?”

"I wouldn't turn down a date with prince T'Challa, that's for damn sure.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She grinned. "I think you don't want to be a Dora. And you may like the prince - if not to marry, than he'd be a good friend to have while you search for what you do want.”

That was sage advice. “I’m really going to miss you.”

"I am not going anywhere, sister.”

“You’ll be going to work. I’ll be going to who-knows-what. It won’t be like this much longer.”

Okoye reached over to touch her hand. "I will always be there when you need me.”

Nakia turned her hand to squeeze Okoye’s. “Now, that I know.”

She smiled. "Just because it won't be like this doesn't mean it won't be good."

*

"I can't believe you are setting me up on a blind date like child in one of those American movies you like so much."

Baba sighed deeply. "It's just a meeting, to see if you get along. I am not planning the wedding."

T'Challa kicked the training dummy in front of him. "The last time I saw the daughter of the River Tribe she was a gangly pre-teen with too much leg.”

“It’s a long, long standing tradition.”

"Did you meet Mother through Arrangement?”

Baba made a noise through his nose. “You know how your mother and I met.” She’s spilled a drink on him at a party. In some versions of the story she threw it at him. No one ever elaborated those version for him. “But I did have an Arrangement. It didn’t work out.”

That story, at least, he hadn't heard. "What happened?”

“Ah, the minute the families left us alone, she burst into tears and told me she didn’t like men.”

He couldn't help but laugh and after a moment his father joined him. "I suppose that did end things quickly.”

“It was more complicated than it should have been. There was a lot of family pressure on her end.”

"Do you somehow imagine the River Chief isn't putting similar pressure on his daughter? I am quite the catch, I hear.”

“She was until recently training to join the Dora Milaje. I feel confident she can handle you. And them.”

Well, that was interesting, at least. "Wouldn't dating the heir make being a Dora a little. . . awkward?”

“Apparently she decided not to finish.”

Even more interesting. Few made it all the way through Dora training, but if she was as old as T'Challa remembered her to be she had to be almost done. "She's not giving it up for me is she?" That was a lot of pressure.

He didn’t like that Baba hesitated. “I did not ask.”

He sighed. "When do I meet her?”

“Soon. We’ll have it arranged. Perhaps up at the lake house? It is the most privacy I can think to give you.” Privacy from the public, anyway. The royal holiday residence had an enormous staff, of course.

"A lack of spectators would be nice.”

Baba nodded. “And. . . how old was she the last time you saw her?”

He frowned, considering. "It's been years. Maybe twelve?”

“Hmn,” his father said, one of those indeterminate noises he made that could mean eleven things. “Perhaps you should consider. . . readjusting your expectations.”

"Well, I don't expect her to still be a child.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

"What _did_ you mean?”

“I guess you’ll find out,” he said enigmatically. And then he turned and left.

Sometimes, his father was a real pain in the ass.

He considered looking her up, just to try and be prepared for whatever it was his father thought he needed to be prepared for. But he’d never get the whole picture, and he liked his first impressions of people to be personal. How bad could it be?


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later he took a transport out to the lake house to meet his intended. His father had made a face when T'Challa referred to her as such, but he wanted to make sure Baba knew how ridiculous he found all of this.  
At least he'd get a few days vacation out of it.

The lake house was enormous, they could probably avoid each other if they ended up really rubbing each other the wrong way. He had friends whose family tradition was to send the couple on safari for a week in the savannah. A week alone in a tent with a stranger sounded like a recipe for disaster.

He got settled into his room, and was just about to call for lunch when he was notified she has arrived. Pausing briefly to check himself out in the mirror, he headed out to the main room to greet her.

She was not sitting and waiting, or staring at the door. In fact she was on the other side of the room, inspecting the artwork on the wall. She did turn at the sound of the door, and then he understood what his father had meant. 

She was _gorgeous_.

For a few awful seconds he didn't feel capable of speech. His tongue felt too big in his mouth and his blood was roaring in his ears. The silence stretched just to the point of awkwardness when he cleared his throat, reminded himself he was a prince and sketched a bow. “Nakia?"

She came towards him, smile on her face. Once close enough he could tell she smelled as good as she looked, she dipped into a small bow and said, “Your Highness.”

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, straightening.

“I believe it,” she said. “You’re looking at me like I’m dinner.”

He cleared his throat again but didn't comment. "I was about to have lunch, would you care to join me?”

“Lunch would be delicious. We can discuss this interesting situation we’re in.”

"Yes. I imagine that will be a fascinating conversation.”

The dining room had been set up, two places prepared at a table that sat 20. She looked at it in askance and he felt strangely embarrassed. It wasn’t as if he was trying to show off. Her father was a Chief, she’d have grown up in a mansion herself. 

She just shook her head, collected their plates, and carried them out onto the expansive lanai beyond the dining room’s large, retractable glass walls. She’d taken his food, so he had little choice but to follow. 

They sat next to each other on a low slung couch, plates on the glass topped table in front of them. T'Challa was quiet while they both ate a few bites, trying to think how to begin. "Were you. . . I mean to say, I hope you were not forced to come here.”

She coughed, clearly trying to hide a laugh—or she’d laughed and choked on her food, it was hard to tell. “No, no, I was not. Were you?”

"Not really. Though I admit it wasn't initially my idea.”

“I don’t think Arrangements are ever the participants’ idea, unless they are already a couple.”

He smiled. "That's probably true.”

Nakia ate for a moment. “So is this just a political exercise or are we taking it seriously?”

T'Challa considered. "I would like to get to know you and see if we get along. I've heard good and bad things about Arrangements. It seems ill advised to dismiss each other out of hand.”

“My parents insisted I promise I would be nice to you. My mother in particular was concerned I’d start some sort of fist fight.”

He grinned. "Well, maybe if I play my cards right.”

She raised her eyebrows, but returned the grin. “So you’re one of those guys, eh?” 

"I'm training to be the Black Panther. I may be wired a bit off.”

“I don’t know, I’d think being turned on my a woman kicking your ass would be a weakness, in a national protector.”

He laughed. "That's probably a good point. But I suppose it depends on the woman.”

“In a real fight, you use whatever weapons you have at your disposal.”

"Spoken like a true warrior.”

“They train the Doras very well,” she replied. “In every possible aspect of combat.”

He nodded, studying her. "My father said you were leaving the training?”

She looked cautious for a moment, perhaps not sure if she should be honest. “My mother was one. It was the path I was steered into, but it never quite fit. “

"Ah." He sipped his water. "Finding one's path is important.”

“This kind of. . . gave me an out. And excuse. It would be politically awkward for me to stay, you see.” She chuckled a little and grinned at him, and for a moment he was dumbstruck again.

He shook his head to clear it and found himself laughing. "Well, I'm happy to help.”

“So now you know why I am here. Why are you here?”  
"My father is very persuasive," he said honestly. "And I was curious.”

She leaned back a bit, stretching out her legs out to the side of the table. The fabric of her dress gaped where the skirt’s layers revealing one well sculpted leg clear up to her thigh. He tried not to stare. “Curious?”

"Yes," he said slowly, focusing deliberately on her face. "I remembered seeing you when we were younger. I was interested in you. Why you'd trained with the Dora. Why you'd stopped. If you were interested in me or chasing the throne or just humoring your parents.”

“If anything came of this, it would be despite the throne, not because of it.”

"That's good to know. I won't try to impress you with my title.”

“Life in the spotlight, full of obligation and ceremony. . . just doesn’t sound fun.” 

"It can be. . . very trying. My father enjoys it more than my mother and I. It is getting worse as I get older and taking on more responsibility.”

“I suppose you have no option but the path chosen for you, do you?”

He smiled and shrugged. "Not really. It's fortunate that I like it. Mostly.”

“Is there a little rebellious thread in there somewhere?” She forward to get her glass of water from the table, and he watched. There was something very graceful about the way she moved. Fluid. Her people were of the water. 

"I leave that for my sister. She's only six but already giving them grey hairs.”

“Younger siblings are always allowed more misbehavior,” she said. “Oldest and only children are held to higher standards. My gut always wants to do what is right. . . though I am coming to realize that isn’t always the same as what is correct.”

"That's a very hard lesson to learn," he said. "But an important one.”

“Figuring out what to do after is the harder task.”

"And that is where you are now?”

“Right now I’m pausing in contemplating my future to indulge in a fairy tale. Beautiful palace, handsome prince. I’ll save figuring out how to break my mother’s heart next week.”

He smiled, but resisted the urge to touch her arm. "This is a good place for thinking, as well. If you find it sneaking up on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s try to have a little fun first, though.”

T'Challa immediately pushed down any untoward thoughts that caused and nodded with a smile. "Yes, ma’am."

“Is that lake as nice to swim in as it looks?”

"Even better," he told her.

That seemed enough to get her to put her plate down and stand up. “Care for a swim then? It’s hot as hell today.”

Didn't have to ask him twice. He rose smoothly to his feet. "After you.”

They retreated to their separate rooms to change. He was aware—as he had seen them many times—that people of the River Tribe in particular tended to swim in next to nothing. Wakanda was a warm place, and it was very common to see a lot of skin. He had never been one to stare at topless women on the beach before. 

However, the parameters of this situation made it feel very. . .different. 

Again, he made an effort not to stare. His mother would have found a way to smack him in the back of the head if he made Nakia uncomfortable. But when his eye did happen to wander to her, he allowed himself to enjoy it. And for the first time, found a purpose to his Panther training other than duty.

He caught her looking unabashedly herself a time or two. It was good to know he was not alone in this. If they were assessing their compatibility, there was little doubt the physical attraction, at least, was mutual.

“You know, my people do all our important rituals in the water,” she said as they floated out in the still lake a dozen meters from shore. You couldn’t touch the bottom anymore, but you could still see it.

"I know that the water is sacred to you.”

“As you pass through important phases in life, you are dunked in the river and coated in mud. You wear it until it dries, and then you wash it off and you are clean and new.”

"That sounds quite lovely," he said honestly, treading water beside her.

“It is.” She held out her arm. “I think it’s why we have such nice skin.”

It would have been rude to not reach out and stroke a hand down her arm. "It is very soft," he agreed quietly.

“My mother insisted I have one before coming up here. It feel like my life is on one of its hinges right now, so it seemed appropriate, even if it wasn’t for the reason my mother intended.”

"I wish you clarity," he said, as sincere as he'd ever been. "Whether it includes me or no.”

His hand was still one her arm, because she hadn’t indicated he should remove it. She turned her hand, enough she could touch his skin with her fingertips. It was the lightest possible touch, but he’d never felt one so intensely. “You are not what I expected you to be.”

"Even more handsome and charming?" he suggested with a grin.

She laughed. “I think that’s the first flash of ego I’ve seen all day.”

"I have moments. I was raised a prince, there's only so much humility my mother could beat into me.”

“I think I expected you to be mostly ego. To assume I was yours if you wanted, that it was inevitable I’d sleep with you, that I should be honored just to be asked.”

"I have many women who would probably sleep with me if I crooked a finger," he told her. "I was hoping for someone like you. Who wanted to assess me as a person first.”

That made her smile. “I like to make sure there will at least be good conversation over breakfast.”

He blamed the sudden heat he felt in his face on the sun reflecting off the water. "That seems essential.”

She stroked the inside of his wrist with one of her fingertips. “I am happy we get along.”

"So am I. If for no other reason than this would have been a very long week, otherwise.”

“Unless we really hated each other. Combat is entertaining.”

"There you go, could have gone either way.”

Nakia shifted in the water, letting his arm go and treading water upright. “I could float out there all day but I know most people only have so much soaking in them. How about we go back up to the house and figure out some things to do with ourselves this week?”

"All right. I spent my childhood summers here. I know some fun activities.”

She swam to the shore and he followed her, staying a step behind so he could watch her walk out of the water in all her River Maiden glory. She turned enough to look back at him and he forgot how to speak again.

This time, he didn't get himself together before it got awkward and she grinned at him. T'Challa ducked his head before climbing out of the water.

*

Nakia changed back into a comfortable dress went back down to find afternoon snacks being laid out by the couches on the lanai. She felt warm and content from the swim, but on another level she felt as keyed up as she’d ever been. She was very. . . aware of him, and she could tell he was the same. It was almost too bad he had good manners—if his hands had gone wandering in the water, she’d have been inclined to let him. 

He was already out there, sipping some sort of cocktail and looking down at the lake. When he heard her step on the ground, he turned and smiled at her. "That's a lovely color on you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, sinking down onto the seat opposite him.

"So, what do you enjoy doing?”

One of the staff brought her a drink of her own, and she accepted it with a smile. “Swimming and fishing. I make glass beads and I like to cook. Lately I’ve had an interest in learning new languages.”

"Which ones interest you?”

“Right now I’m learning Arabic."

His brows went up and he looked legitimately impressed. "I am hopeless with languages. My father ensured I learned English, but his attempts at other languages were abject failures.”

“I seem to be pretty good at it. And I figure the more skills I have, the more opportunities I might find.”

"That's a good idea. You never know what skill will come in handy and how.”

She took a few sips of her drink. “Do you do anything for fun or is your life all duty?”

"I find some of my duty fun," he told her with a crooked smile. "But I am allowed to have some hobbies. I read a lot, and I studied mechanical engineering in school.”

“Do you make things?”

He ducked his head. "I design things. I'm still mostly tinkering. But there's potential.”

“Ah,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I think I have hit your tender spot.”

"I think it's something that is important to me," he admitted. "So I want to brag and also don't want it judged.”

“I’ll allow a little bragging. And I’m not an engineering type, so I’m pretty easy to impress. I’m still mesmerized by the maglev trams. Tell me.” 

"Currently I'm working on a new Panther suit. The one my father uses is functional, but a little bulky. I want to streamline it and try to get the fabric thinner with the same amount of damage absorption.”

“If you figure that out, there would be a wider market. My roommate from school is Border Tribe and thinner, cooler bulletproof clothing is something perpetually sought after.”

He nodded. "It will have many applications. As I said, I'm still in the design phase. But it's getting there.”

They had intended to make evening plans, but somehow they just kept talking. About anything and everything. They talked so long that they eventually had the kitchen send dinner up to them on the lanai. They ate it while watching a gorgeous sunset.

"This was a very nice day," T'Challa commented as they lingered over coffee and the last bites of dessert. "Better than I thought to hope for.”

“Me too,” she said. “Though I admit part of me might have hoped I wouldn’t like you.”

He laughed a little. "Oh really?”

She looked at him a long moment, and then decided to be honest. “I am nowhere near ready to settle down. I’d like to figure out who I am, and what I want out of life before I agree to attach myself to someone. I wouldn’t have to try and explain any of that if we simply didn’t get along.”

"Ah." He looked down. "To be honest, I feel the same. Though I do like you, and look forward to spending the week with you, I'm not ready to make a decision that would guide the rest of my life.”

“Perhaps we should just enjoy ourselves, and agree to make no promises at the end.”

"I think that's the best. Let tomorrow care for itself.”

“Sounds good. I have half a mind to suggest we go out dancing or some such. . . but my day started well before dawn and I don’t think I have it in me.”

"Of course." He set his coffee cup down and stood. "May I walk you to your door?”

“I’d like that,” she said, standing, and taking his hand when he offered it.

He tucked it into the crook of his arm and they walked down the hall to the guest room she'd been given. "I will see you in the morning," he said formally when they reached the door.

She lifted her face up to him. “We have been simmering all day and suddenly you’re putting Grandma to bed.”

"We just met this morning," he said. "I didn't want to push. We have all week.”

She chuckled. “I wasn’t inviting you in, I was just hoping you’d kiss me.” She put her hand on the door. “But I’m happy to bow in a ceremonial fashion if that’s what you’d prefer.”

He gave her that cute, crooked grin, then leaned in and kissed her tenderly. It was warm and sweet and he tasted a little like coffee. She swayed into him, and something hummed under the surface between them, something she expected would ignite like a brushfire if she so much as touched it.

After a long time and nor nearly enough, he lifted his head enough to say, "Sweet dreams, Nakia.”

“They absolutely will be,” she whispered back.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and for a moment she was certain that he would kiss her again and then she’d open her door. For a moment she wanted him to. But then his eyes met hers again, and he took a step back.

"In the morning, perhaps we cold take a walk.”

She leaned against her door, and had to swallow before she could talk. “Sure.”

He grinned and gave her a little bow, before taking another step back and heading down the hall.

When he was gone she ducked back inside, going to sit on the end of the big fancy bed for a moment. Then she send Okoye a message. _You busy?_

_Hell no, I've been waiting all day for an update or distress call._

Nakia grinned. She was a good friend. _Oh, it’s about as opposite of distress as it could be. Other than my self control, which is under plenty of strain._

_I told you he was an attractive man._

_I’m not inadvertently committing to something if I sleep with him, am I? I zoned out on my mother’s morning lecture. It was 5AM and I was covered in mud._

_It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure sex isn't an implicit agreement of anything._

_Good,_ Nakia sent, then added, _Thank you._

_It would probably be worth it even if it was._

It was dangerous that she kind of agreed. Though that was all speculation. It could be terrible. Granted, he sure as hell didn’t kiss like it would. But you could never be entirely sure. _You should consider getting laid yourself._

_I have my eyes open for potential suitor, I assure you._

_I’ll let you know how it goes up here._

_Good luck little sister._


	3. Chapter 3

Nakia slept contentedly, and woke up early. She didn’t know if T’Challa was much of an early riser, and the house seemed quiet. She thought it might do to go for a run before the day got started.

It was a gorgeous area, in the foot hills on the edge of the city. There was a path that wound through the jungle surrounding the lake and she found herself slowing her pace to take in the view and the various birds that dotted the canopy.

When she got back to the house breakfast had been served on the lanai and T'Challa was there, skimming through something on a data pad as he sipped his coffee. He lifted his cup in greeting when he saw her.

She jogged up the steps and waved. “Hello. I was up early.”

"So I see. Did you enjoy your run?”

“I did, it was gorgeous. Thought about taking a dip in the lake to cool off.” She got herself a plate of fruit and sat in one of the chairs. “How are you?”

"I'm well. Forgive me working-" He gestured with the data pad. "I don't want to get too far behind.”

“It’s good we talked last night, because if I were evaluating you as a husband I’d be checking the ‘workaholic’ box right now.”

He grinned. "It's probably a fair assessment. I like to be busy.”

“I imagine that’s a desirable trait in a ruler.”

"Lazy rulers, historically, don't stay ruler for very long.”

“I’ll give you that.” She munched her fruit. “So what shall we do today?”

He paused a beat before answering. "Another swim seems in order. And perhaps a walk and a picnic lunch?”

“That sounds delightful.” She nodded at the data pad. “No work.”

He nodded and dutifully set it down. "Any other requests?”

She considered a moment. “Tonight we should find somewhere to go dancing.”

"As you wish," he said, grinning.

Quickly eating the rest of her fruit, she said, “Meet you at the lake?” She was very sweaty and the cool water sounded very appealing. And she wanted to get in it and rinse off before he got any closer.

It felt as good as she'd imagined and a few minutes later he dove in beside her. He was a good swimmer, for someone who hadn't grown up on the river and he surfaced a few feet away, shaking droplets out of his face and grinning at her.

She swam closer. “Can I just say you look much more relaxed than yesterday.”

"It's nice to get away. I needed a vacation.”

“Me too. Though we probably won’t fully unwind until it’s nearly time to go home.”

He laughed. "Of course. Still, better than nothing.”

“Maybe it’s useful. To go home that relaxed.” She looked through the clear water down to the rocky lake bed. “We had a game when I was kid. See how far you could swim without needing to breathe. I got good at it, I could probably touch the bottom down there. It was exhausting, but nothing felt as good as breathing afterwards.”

Swimming a bit closer, he let one of his feet nudge hers. "Want to give it a try?”

She eyed him. “Have you taken the Heart-Shaped Herb, yet? I’m not racing someone with superpowers.”

"I am not officially the Black Panther yet. No superpowers.”

“Good, then. Race you to the bottom.” She dove down before he could reply. Dimly, she heard his shout, then the splash as he dove after her. She didn't pay any attention to that, heading straight for the bottom.

Her fingertips brushed the hard rock floor and she turned in the water to push off and almost ran into him. Her lungs burned and her ears felt like the were going to explode, but she swung herself around and sat on the rocks like she had all the time in the world. Mostly to show off.

He flattened a palm on the bottom of the lake and pretended to do a hand stand. Then reached out and tickled her foot before launching himself towards the surface. She shot up after him, gasping for air when she broke the surface, a task made more difficult by and equally strong urge to laugh.

He grinned at her between his own gasps, and then they were both laughing and trying to catch their breath. 

“See?” she said when she could manage words. “Don’t you feel alive?”

"Very much," he told her. "Though a little light headed.”

“That’s part of the fun,” she said. And then she floated close enough to kiss him, just because she wanted to. He slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her back, deeper than the night before. She wrapped her arms around him, trusting him to hold her up. They were both shirtless, so their bodies pressed together skin-to-skin. It was a very, very different kind of kiss.

When they parted, he murmured, "Now I'm light headed for a different reason.”

She nuzzled him a little. “That’s part of the fun, too.”

He kissed her again and again, floating there in the middle of the lake. Eventually, they made it back to shore and hiked back to the house, letting the sun dry them on the lanai. 

She reached to tangle her fingers with his. “So there was something about a walk and a picnic?”

"Yes. I'll see if the cook can whip up a basket for us.”

Nakia sat up slowly. “I’m going to find some more suitable clothes to hike in.”

"I'll meet you in the front hall in a few minutes?”

She nodded, and gave him a quick kiss before she went. She made a mess digging through her suitcase, and took long enough that he was waiting for her, with the basket of food and having changed himself, by the time she got down there.

He offered her his arm as she reached him. "Shall we?”

“I enjoy your royal manners,” she said, tucking her arm in his elbow.

"It never hurts to treat a woman like a queen.”

“I suppose all your dates are auditioning for that title, aren’t they?”

"More or less," he admitted with a wry smile. "Whether I like it or not.”

“So where are we going, your highness?”

"Up hill," he replied, leading her down the opposite path to the one she'd run on this morning.

“Payback for the dive, eh?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning shock. "I would _never_.”

She rolled her shoulders. “If it ends the same way, it’ll be worth it.”

"I'm sure that can be arranged.”

They hiked up into the jungle. It was difficult terrain, but nothing like the sort of thing they put them through in Dora training. She enjoyed the challenge. T'Challa seemed to know exactly where he was going, winding them through the trees on various trails. The sun was high in the sky when they reached a clearing with a breathtaking view of the lake and the land beyond it.

“Wow,” Nakia breathed. “That’s a sight.”

He smiled. "I knew you'd like it.”

“This was worth the hike, yeah.” She turned to him. He was grinning rather proudly. “I am starving.”

"Let's see what we can do about that." He set the basket down and dug into it, pulling out a blanket to sit on and a few covered dishes and insulated bottles. 

She sat down next to him, and they ate in companionable silence for a while. The food was as delicious as expected, the sun was warm, and the view was gorgeous. “Do you come up here a lot?” she asked.

"Not as much as I used to," he said, looking out at the view before drawing his gaze back to her. "I used to come up here all the time when I was a child. It was a nice place to think and be quiet.”

She put her plate down and stretched out on her back on the blanket to enjoy the sun on her skin. “What did you think about when you were a little boy?”

"Well, when I was very little I was busy fighting off invaders sneaking through the woods.”

“I used to pretend I was defending Wakanda from invading aliens that came from outer space.”

He grinned widely. "Mine were usually pirates.”

She smiled up at him. “We are of similar instincts, you and I.”

"Clearly. I like a woman who will fight at my side.”

She pushed up on her elbows. “I can’t make you any other promises, T’Challa, but I can make you that one.”

Leaning over, he kissed her gently. "Thank you.” She cupped the back of his neck, holding her close, and the kiss took off. Somehow, he ended up laying with her, half on top of her, as they made out with more and more enthusiasm.

The broke for air for just a moment, then he bent his head back down to kiss her neck. She arched up to him and murmured, “Was this your teenage make-out spot?”

"No my teenage hook ups mostly happened in the palace.”

She stroked his arm with the lightest touch—up over his bicep, around his shoulder and up along his neck to his cheek. “How private is it?”

"Mmm, it's just us up here.”

She kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip, and breathed, “Good.”

Something between a groan and a laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, really?”

She ran her fingertips over his hair and down the back of his neck. “Don’t tell me I’m misreading this.” 

The sound was definitely a chuckle. "No, not at all. Just interested in your exhibitionist streak.”

“It’s not exhibitionist if no one is watching.” 

His hand wandered down her back to cup her ass. "One could argue the non-zero possibility of being seen still counts.”

“Mmm, it would be national news. I can see the headlines.” Though if they go caught it wouldn’t be a random person with a camera. They were still on private land—they had to be, or they’d have had Dora with them. Still. . . she was a woman who liked a little edge of danger in her life. So maybe the idea did turn her on a little.

He kissed along her throat. "There's already speculation about how nice my ass is.”

“Honey, we can tell how nice your ass is with your pants on.” She found the bottom hem of his shirt and got her hands under it, just to touch his skin. He groaned at the touch, kissing her mouth again. One of his hands made its way under her shirt, cupping her breast.

It was silly, they’d kissed and let their hands wander while they were in the water, touching far more bare skin—but somehow this was hotter. Somehow it made her ache more. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. This was the fire she’d tried not to get too close to.

"How far do you want to take this?" he murmured, thumb stroking across her nipple.

The question surprised her. Men generally didn’t ask, they just kind of continued until you voiced objection or hesitation. So she gave it a moment of genuine consideration. “Depends on if I’m listening to my libido or my sense.”

He grinned, stroking her cheek. "Let's start with sense.”

“Sense says out here might be rushed and cautious and might even involve bug bites in very inopportune places, but if we went back to the house we’d have all evening to take our time.”

The grin turned crooked and boyish. "That is very sensible.” He was so adorable right then she had to kiss him, and then the kiss got a little out of control.

With a groan, he broke the kiss and rolled up to his knees. "Bug bites," he reminded her. "Big bed.”

“Right, right.” She took a steadying breath. It was better if they weren’t touching. Without saying anything else, they worked swiftly to pack up the picnic. There was quite a hike still to get back down. 

At the top the trail, he paused and gave her another kiss. "Perhaps we could share a bath when we get there.”

She pressed herself against him for just a moment. “I’ll put that on the menu.”

He cupped her ass again, then gave it a little pat to shoo her down the hill. They held hands the entire hike down, letting go only when the trail was too narrow. Sometimes then he’d put his hand on her waist or the back of her neck. She thought maybe the walk would cool her down a bit, but it didn’t. By the time they reached the house she thought she might come out of her skin.

T'Challa paused only long enough to leave the basket in the kitchen before herding her towards the bedrooms. "Bath or bed?”

“Which door is yours?” she asked. 

He pointed past hers. "End of the hall.”

She took his hand and pulled him toward the door. The room was enormous, and gorgeous, so much that she stopped to stare at it. The bed had a canopy and was draped with layers of fabric and mosquito netting—which had been made obsolete by electronic bug repellents for decades, but was quite romantic looking nonetheless. “Wow, this is definitely the honeymoon suite, isn’t it?”

"That's a good description," he admitted, coming up behind her. "And you haven't seen the tub yet.”

Nakia leaned back into him. “My people do like having our important events happen in water.”

"That is why I thought of it.”

She turned to look at him. She supposed that was her—them—admitting this was important. For all she’d said last night about sex not promising anything, somewhere in her gut she knew that wasn’t true. This was going to be something, and this was her last chance to step back from the edge. 

He held her gaze a moment, thoughts clearly working along the same lines as hers. Lifting a hand, he traced the line of her cheek and jaw, then gestured behind her with his chin. "It's back there.”

She leaned in and kissed him, as gently and tenderly as the first time he’d kissed her. “Let’s go.”

*

T'Challa watched her saunter into the bathroom, following at her heels. The room was huge, possibly as large as her guest room, and finished in black marble with polished silver fixtures. the bath was large enough for at least four or five people to share, though which, if any, of his relatives had ever done so, T'Challa did not want to know.

Nakia leaned over the tub edge and turned the tap. A section of the stone along the back opened, and then a waterfall poured down. She startled a little and then grinned. “Nice,” she murmured, and then began to peel off her clothes.

He'd been about to comment on being glad she approved, but was rendered speechless instead. She really was beautiful, every inch of her smooth and soft and perfect. She had a foot in the water and glanced back at him expectantly before he shook himself awake enough to peel his shirt off.

She chuckled and stepped into the tub, reaching out to touch the waterfall wall. The water splashed and ran down her arm. “Can’t say I’ve ever mesmerized someone before,” she commented.

"I find that very hard to believe.”

She leaned against the wall and the water flowed over her shoulders, running trails down her body and dripping off the tips of her breasts. “Not the way you look at me.” Her voice was a little rough.

"And how is that?" he asked softly.

“Like water in the desert.”

Shedding his trousers, he stepped into the tub, sinking into the warm water. "Sounds about right.” 

She sucked in a breath and then leaned forward to kiss him. He backed her up against the waterfall, and it cascaded around them as it filled the tub. There wasn’t any hesitation or caution in either of them anymore, and the kiss was full of heat and need. He let his hands wander her skin, exploring her curves. She seemed to shift and arch into the touch, as if she wanted more.

Cupping his hands under her ass, he lifted her up, so he could kiss down her throat. She wrapped her legs around him and let him hold her up, then turned her head to give him more access to her skin.

He tasted her, nipping at the place where her neck and shoulder met. Then he hefted her a bit higher so he could kiss her breast, circling her nipple with the tip of his tongue. She held on to the back of his head and made a noise of encouragement. The tub was filling up high enough he’d need to stop and turn the waterfall off soon.

When he had given both breasts equal attention, he set her down and turned the valve to stop the flow of water before it overflowed. She leaned back and floated, stretching her arms and arching her back like an offering.

"You look like a goddess," he told her.

“I will take Water Goddess as a title,” she replied with a smile. He stroked a hand up her leg, and she opened them for him.

He found her folds already swollen with pleasure and smiled as the first brush of his fingertips made her shiver. He stroked her, opening her up to explore and see what felt best. Something made her suck in a breath, and when he repeated it he got a whimper. She lost her balance a little in the water, and he put his hand under her ass to keep her floating. He bet to kiss her belly and continued the same motion, stroking her and watching as she gasped and writhed in his arms.

Her arms stretched out, hands gripping the sides of the tub, so she arch and lift up to him. “More.” She sounded desperate. “Please.”

He kissed her skin again and slid two fingers into her body, stroking her there until she was fluttering around him. As she relaxed, she sank down into the water, until she was covered up to her neck. Then she turned and smiled at him. “Hey.”

He allowed himself a moment to feel smug. "Hello."

She didn’t give him more than the moment, because she leaned forward and kissed him with more intensity than he expected. He groaned, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to his chest, stroking her skin. She broke the kiss to murmur against his mouth, “I can come again if we don’t wait too long.”

"Right here?" he asked, since pinning her to the wall seemed presumptive.

She shifted her hips and ground against him. “Anywhere you want.”

And so he lifted her a little higher, braced her against the edge of the tub, and slid inside. She wrapped her legs around him, but the water helped them have plenty of space to move. Kissing him again, she rocked and rolled her hips, taking him deeper. He growled, sucking her lip into his mouth as he cupped her hips and thrust into her. She was hot and slick and felt incredible. It took all of his considerable self control not to lose himself after the first few strokes. She clutched at him, and he felt her nails dig into him. It was the tiniest sting of pain, just enough to get his attention. She started to shake, and lost her rhythm as she got close. He felt her hand move between their bodies, finding what ever last little bit she needed. She cried out as she came around him. It only took a few rough, deep strokes to join her, sinking deep into her body as he let go.

She pressed her face into his neck, and made a contented sound. He rubbed her back and together they floated, try to catch their breath.

Eventually, they got themselves out of the tub. They sprawled out on his bed in a tangle of towels, and drifted for a while, not quite awake and not quite asleep. Eventually she murmured, “Yeah, I’m glad we came back down here.”

T'Challa chuckled and rubbed her back. "Me too.”

“Locking ourselves in here for the rest of the day sounds really appealing.”

"I can think of nothing I'd rather do.”

She leaned over to kiss him, and he obligingly pulled her closer, until she sprawled half on top of him. He let his hands wander as he was clearly welcome to do. “I'd wondered if once would get it out of our systems.”

He arched a brow. "What's your assessment?”

“Oh. . .I think it might take all week.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple he said, "I think we're up for the challenge.”

Her assessment was. . . not inaccurate. Like a narcotic, they couldn’t get enough of each other. They found things to do during the day—or at least the morning—but their one attempt at going out dancing turned them on so much they left early, and had sex on the floor of his room that was so urgent he ripped her dress beyond repair. 

The end of the week loomed, but neither of them talked about it.

The night before they were supposed to leave, they lay in his bed, watching the stars through the large wall of windows. "Are we still avoiding promises tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

She inhaled slowly, and then blew the breath out. “I still don’t think I should make any.” She looked over at him. “But for the love of Bast, I don’t want to stop this.”

"Neither do I." He trailed his fingers along the skin of her arm. "We could keep on without any promises.”

“What do we say to our families?”

"That we're dating and seeing where it goes?”

She rolled over so she could snuggle against his chest. “That’s pretty much the truth, isn’t it?”

"I think so. You're still deciding your future. I'm still training for mine. There's no need to rush into a commitment, but also no need to turn aside something that pleases us both.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “That is certainly does,” she said, sounding very happy. He kissed her temple again, feeling content and settled. And no longer dreading the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Nakia rented a flat in Birnin Zana and enrolled in the university there. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to do, but it would be more than fighting, and she needed more education. 

It also would have been hard to have a normal, mundane, entry-level job while also _very_ publicly being the Royal Girlfriend. 

She loved his family, and they welcomed her openly—as expected given the Arrangement, but it was very warm and genuine. His sister was an adorable little girl in a fluffy purple dress who, when Nakia playfully asked if she knew her alphabet, rolled her eyes and recited the periodic table instead. 

She liked his friends, who also welcomed her, though with a good deal more joking and ribbing. Her friends from Dora training were all working in the palace and she saw them plenty. T’Challa even finagled it so Okoye was assigned to his detail, just to make Nakia happy. And she was, on a lot of levels, for the first time in years.

It was, perhaps, the best time to fall completely in love.

"Queen Nakia has a nice ring to it," Okoye teased her one evening on her night off.

In the middle of painting her toenails, Nakia looked up to make a face at her. “Not you, too.”

She shrugged expansively in that way she had. "I'm not suggesting anything. But I do have eyes.”

“Neither of us is anywhere near ready to get married.” She want back to her pedicure. “Would you want to get married at this age?” It was a rhetorical question. Okoye liked her relationships causal and short.

"I am not being courted by the king," she retorted. "But just because marriage isn't around the next bend, it doesn't mean it's not on the path you're on.”

“He’s not the king yet,” she said, because it was the only part of that statement she could dispute.

Okoye smiled and went back to reading her magazine. "No, praise Bast. Hopefully the King has many years left.” 

“I am in love with him,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I can deny that anymore.”

"I don't know why you were denying it in the first place.”

“Because I know what tends to come after that.”

"Marriage and babies?”

“My life becomes about being a decoration.”

Okoye arched a brow at her. "You think being a queen is not a job?”

“I think it’s not my kind of job.”

"That I concede." She turned the page of her magazine. "Any closer to figuring out what is your kind of job?”

“You once put the idea of being a spy in my head, and I still can’t shake it.”

"When you tell T'Challa about how you're running off to be a spy, do not blame it on me.”

That made Nakia laugh. “Oh, I haven’t brought it up. Part of me fears it’s going to be an either-or choice. But then I may need his help to get in. Which might then look like I slept my way into the job.”

"Ah. A conundrum. Do you think he would support you if you told him it's what you wanted?”

“Without a doubt.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t love him if he was a possessive asshole.” 

"It sounds like you know what your path is. You're just enjoying the detour for as long as you can.”

“That is. . . a nice way of putting it, and I will accept it."

"I am here to help however I can," Okoye told her so solemnly she knew she was being teased.

Nakia laughed. “Keep him out of trouble when I’m not around.”

"Of course. It's my job.”

The detour, as it were, could have gone on as long as she wanted it to. Much like when she had done her Dora training, it was easy to just float in the status quo, taking life as it was and not focusing too much on the future.

But the future kept coming.

One day, she received an invitation that felt more like a summons, from someone high in the Wakandan military. Curious, and vaguely concerned, she went to the meeting not knowing what to expect.

She was brought into an office of some sort, glared at suspiciously by guards the entire way—a strange sensation for someone who knew all of the Dora Milaje by name and had walk-in access to the royal family areas of the palace. But this was a completely different section of the military.

They left her to sit for a length of time likely designed to be intimidated. Then a man came in, dressed all in black, and sat at the other end of the table. “Hello. I am N’Gani, Commander of the Hatut Zeraze. I would like to discuss your becoming a War Dog.”

Nakia stared at him, so surprised, only honesty could come out of her mouth. “Did Okoye put you up to this?”

He blinked, seeming surprised himself. “I don’t know who that is.”

“She’s a Dora Milaje. She just knows— Never mind. Why did you call me?”

That got her a consternated face from the man in front of her. “Most people consider this invitation a great honor.”

“It is, of course. I am honored. I am also the only child of the Chief of the River Tribe and the Prince’s intended. You didn’t throw a dart at the address registry.”

N’Gani smiled. “Most of those things are coincidence. Your language teacher at the University recommended you. Apparently you have an exceptional facility with them, and it is a very important skillset we look for. When we learned you trained with the Dora Milaje we were very interested. Why did you leave?” 

Suddenly she was very grateful for the convenient, if not entirely honest, excuse. “Political awkwardness on account of my Arrangement.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "Have you and the Prince made any plans regarding your future?”

Her eyebrows went up. “That is not your business.”

"If I'm offering you a place in the War Dogs, I think it is.”

“If you wish a commitment of time, or of a certain number of missions, before you invest in my training, I am happy to make those. That is a reasonable request. The details of my long term plans with my lover are not.”

"So you are interested," N'Gani said, smiling again.

She lifted her chin. “I am.”

"Good. We would like to discuss a training schedule and perhaps a brief mission to assess your fitness for the role.”

“I am all ears.”

The meeting ended up lasting four hours that afternoon. She had dinner plans with T’Challa and was wildly late by the time she got there.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, automatically standing to pull her chair out for her.

“I had. . . a really interesting meeting today.”

He arched a brow as he took his seat again. "Do tell.”

She watched him a long moment, then said, “I was asked to join the War Dogs.”

There was a moment of silence, then he broke into a grin. "That's a great honor. Do you think you want to?”

That smile of his was absolutely genuine, and it made her feel lighter. “I do. It’s something I’d kicked around in my own head for a long time. And then it’s just. . . fallen in my lap. The Ancestors giving me a kick in the ass, yeah?”

"I would take it as such, yes," he said with a laugh.

“There will be quite a lot of training. And after that I will be away a lot.”

"I do know how the War Dogs work," he told her gently. "It sounds like we need to have the conversation we've been avoiding.”

She looked up at him. “Is this where you ask me to choose?”

"I'm fairly certain I know the answer." He smiled gently. "I don't want to stand in your way.”

His calm unnerved her. “How can you know the answer? I don’t.”

"Because I know you. I see you better than you see yourself sometimes. You're happy with me, happy when we're together. But you feel like there's something missing, don't you?”

Nakia got up from the table and walked over to the window behind them. The twinkling lights of the city sprawled out below. “It’s not your fault.”

"Doesn't make it untrue.”

“I love you,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He stood and joined her at the window, touching her back. "I love you, too. But I will always be here. This opportunity might not be. If you turn it down, will you always wonder what could have been?”

“Yes,” she said. She knew that without question. “I don’t know if I will ever be the kind of woman who is happy being a queen and bearing your heirs.” He opened his mouth and she put up a hand. “I know we’ve never discussed that. But I know your path is fixed and we’re long past being able to ignore it.” She sighed. “It isn’t fair to ask you to wait while I figure that out.”

He took her hand and kissed it. "I understand. I cannot promise you I won't wait a while anyway.”

She turned and hugged him. “I’m not leaving yet. We have time if we want it.” There was a lump in her throat. “I just want to be fair to you.” 

"I know." He rubbed her back. “It'll be all right. You deserve the chance to find your path.”

She lifted her head to kiss him, because she didn’t know what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything that needed saying. But right now she loved him more than anything in whole world. He sighed softly, kissing her back, cupping her face in his hands. Eventually she whispered, “Do you want to eat dinner? Or just go to bed?”

"I think bed is more appealing.”

“The food will keep.”

Her training, as it turned out, took an entire year. Her first mission was short, and exhilarating. The work fit like a glove. She just _knew_ this was what she wanted to do. When she returned, she got her lip tattoo.

She gave up her apartment and stored most of her stuff at her parents’ house. It wasn’t worth maintaining, and she could stay with them when she was home between missions—though in practice she mostly stayed with T’Challa. 

“There are so many people out there who are suffering. And I’m just there to watch. All we do is watch.”

He tucked his hands behind his head, watching her prepare for bed. "Wakanda has never interfered in other countries.”

“You don’t think there’s any way to help without interfering?” She put lotion on her face and wrapped a silk scarf around her hair. The wardrobe department for her last assignment had insisted on putting chemical straighteners in her hair and her scalp still itched. It was the first time since she’d been in Dora training that shaving it seemed appealing.

"I don't know that it's my decision to make," he admitted. "But it's a conversation I've been having repeatedly with my father, if that makes you feel better.”

“With not much luck, I imagine?”

"I have never actually spoken to a wall, but I imagine the experience is similar.”

Nakia shrugged off her robe and climbed under the blankets. “It wouldn’t be hard for the War Dogs to leak things. Seed. . . I don’t know, medical technology? Drug formulas? There are a lot of things we can cure that cause death and misery out there.” While she spoke, he tugged on the end of the scarf and it unwound. He’d been fascinated by his ability to run his fingers through her hair. “T’Challa."

"If your handler is mad blame it on me. What can they do?”

“In a place like America, for example, it is perfectly culturally acceptable for a white man to take the work of someone of a class they feel beneath them—ethnic minority, woman, both—and claim it as their own. Not outright obvious plagiarism, usually, but they’re pretty good at the theft just the same.” 

"So you want to give them some of our stuff to steal credit for?” He was wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger, like he was trying to turn it back into a curl. 

“It’s not like _we_ are going to take credit. Or would even want to. It would just be very easy to discretely share that way.” She held up a hand. “Now I know we’d never, ever, do it with weapons, and shouldn’t, but as an example. . . If you were to embed me as a lab assistant at, say, Stark Industries, put me in a short skirt and in a couple of weeks I could have its CEO convinced he invented vibranium. No one would even remember I existed.”

"And then it would be out there, where anyone could do whatever they wanted with it. Including finding a way to make it a weapon. Not to mention, the vast majority of our technology depends on access to vibranium and, if you'll recall, the entirety of our supply was stolen when I was a child.”

“That was just the quickest example I could think of, I know we can’t hand out vibranium. But there are so many things we take for granted.” She shook her Kimoyo beads at him. “Birth control you wear on your wrist. How would you like to risk imploding both our lives every time we have sex? That’s how most women out there live.”

He sighed deeply. "I do see your point. And I swear to Bast and all the ancestors, my father and I have been debating it. But there is a risk in even doing what you're suggesting. Right now, the door to the world is shut tight. War Dogs serve as our peep holes, but no one out there knows they're here. Letting some our tech out. . . that opens the door, even just a crack. It's only a matter of time until it's forced open more. And then what? We go to war?”

“Anyone who comes for us will regret it pretty swiftly.” She shook her head. “But I know there’s no moving your father. I just wonder if there’s a point where hiding makes us cowards.”

His fingers threaded through her hair again. "There might be. Caution becomes cowardice eventually. The world is getting smaller, and that line is getting closer.”

“Will we know it when we get there?”

"I certainly hope so.”


	5. Chapter 5

T’Challa got used to Nakia’s missions coming and going. Sometimes she’d be home for weeks, and then gone for months. He missed her when she was gone, but he was so busy himself that in a lot of ways it worked for them. One of their neighboring nations was engaged in a very messy civil war and keeping it from spilling over the border consumed a lot of his time. Their relationship wasn’t ideal, but it worked.

It did seem to concern his father, though.

“Your mother told me Nakia is coming to visit you.” Baba had come to T’Challa’s office to make this statement, which was probably not a good sign.

“Only for the weekend. Friends of ours are getting married and we’re both in the wedding.” Not that his father usually cared about T’Challa’s social calendar, but he felt compelled to point out she wasn’t just swinging through Wakanda for a quickie.

“How many years are you going to let this go on?”

"What this would you be referring to?" he asked innocently.

“Her leaving and you waiting.”

"I suppose until it stops working for us.”

“You are going to need to settle down. Have a family. Preferably while I am still alive.”

T'Challa sighed. "Not the heir lecture. I have plenty of time.”

“You have plenty of time, until you don’t.”

"Remind me, how old were you when Shuri was born?”

He finally sat in one of the chairs opposite T’Challa’s desk. “Old enough it took us seven years to have her.”

"I cannot simply turn off my feelings for Nakia.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m merely suggesting you either stop feeding them so they fade naturally, or convince her to stay.”

He paused, considering. "I will ask her.”

“If you wanted, I could see she doesn’t have any more international assignments.”

"No," he said firmly. "No machinations.”

“As you wish,” he said mildly as he stood. “Enjoy the wedding.”

"Thank you. I'll send them your best.”

Baba nodded, and let himself out. T’Challa watched him go and sighed. Nakia’s plane was landing in a couple of hours and his father had taken the wind out of his good mood.

He went for a run out in the jungle to clear his head, though he spent most of it having arguments with his father in his head about how he could live his own life how he saw fit. Most of it was far too disrespectful to ever say to Baba, but it felt good to silently vent.

Tomorrow his best friend was getting married. He needed to not be distracted by his own love life, so it helped to think it through. He decided to put the whole thing out of his mind, which lasted the entire 45 minutes until his beads notified him that Nakia’s plane was about to land.

Trying to put on a happy face, he went out to the landing strip to greet her.

Okoye had gone to pick her up herself, and they came off the plane in the middle of conversation, laughing about something. He was mesmerized, like he always was. Particularly when she saw him and beamed.

Feeling a bit like a besotted teenager, he lifted a hand and waggled his fingers in a wave. She jogged over and wrapped her arms around his neck, murmuring, “Hi,” into the side of his neck.

Lifting her off her feet, he took a deep breath of her scent. “Hello."

She kissed him lightly when he set her down. They didn’t do that much in public or semi-public places. “It’s good to see you.”

"You too. How was your flight? Did Okoye resist a barrel roll?”

“I like barrel rolls,” she replied with a laugh. “She did give me an itinerary of the meticulously planned weekend. It accounts for just about every minute. Very. . . military.”

From behind her Okoye said, “Hey, I scheduled you sex time.”

"I appreciate that," T'Challa called to her.

Nakia rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, it’s apparently not until tomorrow.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, the kind of kiss that made him forget where he was. “That’s all you get for today.”

"I'll have to make do." He stroked her cheek. "So she's kidnapping you for the evening?”

“Yes. You should have separate manly festivities going on.”

“You were sent an itinerary,” Okoye called. His assistant probably had it.

“You were sent an itinerary,” Nakia repeated solemnly, amusement all over her face. 

"I'll see if I can find it. I'd hate to miss out on manly festivities.”

She kissed him and stepped back. “Don’t get too drunk.” 

Okoye came to stand next to her. She raised her eyebrows at T’Challa and said, “If there are any bloodshot eyes in my pictures tomorrow, I will hold you responsible.”

"Consider me terrified into compliance.”

“Good,” she said, with a curt nod.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Nakia said to him.

"Have fun," he told her, kissing her. "Don't get too drunk.”

She gave him a little wave, linked arms with Okoye, and they sauntered off.

His assistant did, in fact, have a copy of the itinerary and T'Challa had just enough time to shower and change before going into the city to meet W'Kabi and his brothers.

It was a rowdy party, the kind that reminded him of his youth. Such an occasion would usually involve bar or club hopping all over the city, but instead one had been rented out just for the purpose, in deference to the crowds and disruption that usually resulted from T’Challa mingling with the public. Not to mention the contingent of Dora Milaje that would have followed him.

It also started earlier, and ended earlier, that your average evening event, on account of the the very (very) early morning they had tomorrow. Wakandan weddings took place at dawn.

He found himself alone with W'Kabi as they waited for cars to take them home. He took his friend by the shoulders and studied him. "Drink plenty of water when you get home. Your bride promised to take any hangover out on me.”

“It’s a bluff. She’d have to resign to enforce it.”

"If you have red eyes in your wedding photos I think she would deem it worth it.”

He laughed. “She can be more amenable than you think.” He paused, and looked serious. “But you’re probably right.”

T'Challa slapped him on the back. "Rest well. I'll see you at dawn.”

“Perhaps we will do one of these for you someday, eh?”

He ignored the little pang. "Maybe someday.”

“She adores you,” he said. “She’ll come around.”

It was nice to have a friend who knew him so well. "If I was fighting against another lover, it would be easier. But I can't ask her to leave her life.”

“You won’t have to,” he said confidently. “She’ll come around.”

"I admire your confidence, my friend. I suspect at least some of it is fueled by liquor.”

“I have faith in love while sober, too.” He swayed a little. “I’ll have you know.”

"You'd better, you're getting married in the morning.”

He grinned like that was the best news he’d every received. “Indeed I am.”

T'Challa's car pulled up and he clapped W'Kabi on his shoulder again. "Sleep well, brother.”

“I’ll sleep tomorrow. Well, it is tomorrow. So I’ll sleep today. Just later.”

"Good luck," T'Challa told W'Kabi's brothers before getting into his car.

He went home after that, to catch a very short bit of sleep, before getting up in the pitch black before dawn and headed out to the Border Province. 

It was a big, outdoor ceremony, timed to the rising sun. Of all the tribes, the Border Tribe lived the most visible to the rest of the world, so they tended to live in very traditional ways, particularly for ritual and ceremonial events. Which is why there was a part where, in order to be official married, the parties had to exchange livestock (sheep, in this case) and then proceed through their village on the back of a heavily decorated rhinoceros. 

At the end of the procession they stood before Zuri, their head priest, who blessed W'Kabi and Okoye and their union.

T'Challa found himself standing next to Nakia during the ceremony and, moved by the spirit, reached over to hook his fingers into hers. He could hear her sigh, and she squeezed his hand. 

"She makes a beautiful bride," he whispered.

She put her head on his shoulder. “Every woman is the most beautiful on her wedding day.”

"Even after riding a rhinoceros?”

She made a humphing noise and elbowed him. “You should see what the River Tribe does.”

"Is a crocodile involved?" he teased.

“Lots of mud. And shh.”

He squeezed her hand and tucked her close as they watched the ceremony. At Zuri's word, W'Kabi stepped close and kissed Okoye and a cheer went up through the crowd. 

Afterwards there was plenty of feasting and dancing. Nakia danced with him as often as either of them had the energy for, and he couldn’t stop thinking about weddings in the river.

"Will you ever be a bride?" he asked her as the sat watching the others dance.

She looked over at him. “Are you asking me to be one?”

"I has been on my mind lately," he admitted.

“If it were anyone it would be you,” she said. “But I’m not ready for the life that would entail.”

"Do you think you ever will?”

She turned her head to watch W’Kabi and Okoye dancing. “Someday, yes. Get my taste for adventure out of my system. Hang up my spear, so to speak. Dunk my babies in the river.” 

He cupped a hand to stroke her hair and down her neck. "I can live with someday.”

“I still feel like I can’t ask you to wait. But I can’t bring myself to suggest you find someone else with a straight face—and I’m a spy—so that’s that.”

"I am not looking for anyone else," he promised her.

She stood up, not letting go of his hand. “Come dance with me.”

"Anything you wish," he told her, letting her tug him to his feet. Slow music played, and she melted into him. 

They swayed together and he let himself get lost in her scent and the warm feel of her in his arms. For a few minutes it was like the rest of the world dropped away. “You get any sleep last night?” she murmured eventually.

"An hour or two. You?”

“About that. I was thinking we could duck out early, go take a nap.” 

He grinned. "That's an excellent idea.”

Wedding festivities tended to run from dawn to dusk—sometimes with copious after parties—so even with ducking out early it was a very long day. He had enhanced stamina and could probably go several days without sleep before being truly exhausted, but Nakia had no such enhancements, and she fell asleep on his shoulder on the ride back home.

He carried her inside when they got back to the palace, ignoring the amused looks of the Dora he passed. Setting Nakia on the bed, he paused long enough to shed his formal coat before curling up with her. She cuddled close and tucked her head under his chin. She had beads in her hair, the little glass ones she liked to make, and she had to shift a couple of times so they didn’t dig into his skin. “I let you carry me,” she mumbled.

"You did. And I lived to tell the tale.”

She sighed contentedly. “Only you.”

He kissed her temple. "I should hope so.” She made an indistinct noise in reply, as she drifted to sleep. T'Challa listened to her breathe until he slipped into sleep as well.

He had no idea how long they slept, but when he woke it was dark, and she was no longer in the bed. He squinted and could see her at the foot of if, carefully peeling herself out of her face dress, which she’d slept in.

"Mmm, come back to bed," he mumbled.

“Easy for you to say, your formalwear has drawstring pants.” She had to wiggle to get the dress down over her hips, something that was fun to watch.

"Come back to bed naked," he suggested.

“That I can agree to.” She tossed the dress on the bench at the foot of his bed. There was apparently nothing beneath it. She walked up his side of the bed, stopping when she was close enough he could touch her. “This I miss when I’m I’m gone,” she whispered.

"I knew it. You love me for my bed.”

She leaned over, bracing her arms on either side of his head. “Yeah, that’s it.”

He grinned up at her. "And my bathtub.”

“That's for later,” she replied, and she kissed him.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her to pull her close to him. She stretched out on top of him, and he let his hands wander down her body. He missed her, too. The only upside to her long absences was that she always felt both familiar and yet entirely new when he saw her again.

Cupping the back of her head, he tilted it so he could trail a line of kisses down her throat. She straddled him and sat up, pulling on his shirt. “You have way too much clothes on.”

He lifted his arm and arched so she could wiggle it off. "At least they're easy to remove.”

“Thank Bast for small favors,” she replied, bending down to kiss him again.

Someone was knocking on his door.

"Let's ignore it," he whispered.

He could see her swallow a giggle. “Hey, it’s your door. I’m on vacation.” 

The knocking started again as she kissed him again. Then he heard, “T’Challa. Get up.” That was W’Kabi’s voice. Something very bad had to be happening for him to be banging on T’Challa’s door in the middle of his wedding night.

Clearly equally alarmed, Nakia scrambled off him and grabbed the shirt she’d just tossed on the floor, putting it on for some kind of cover. 

"What's happened?" he called, rolling to his feet and striding for the door.

W’Kabi didn’t reply until he opened the door. “Honestly, you have to see it.” He turned his wrist up and tapped a bead. It was a city full of skyscrapers—he thought it might be New York in the United States—and above one of the buildings was what looked like a. . . portal. Creatures of various sizes, some very large, were pouring out of it.

“What the hell is that?” Nakia asked.

“The feed is from our War Dog in New York City,” W’Kabi said. “He thinks they’re aliens.”

"Is anything being done to fight it?" T'Challa asked, watching the creatures pour forth.

“The US seems to have mustered a team of colorfully dressed enhanced warriors, plus their own militaries.”

Sure enough, there was Tony Stark in his red and gold tin can zipping around the sky scrapers. "Charming. Has it spilled out of New York?”

“Not yet. But when have conquerors ever stopped where they got off the boat?”

"Mmm." He touched a panel on his wall to bring up a television feed, which was of course showing the same footage. "Put the warriors on alert and make sure my father is aware of the situation.”

“I didn’t want to have him woken until I talked to you.” The three of them watched the video feed for a few moments. “We don’t have a defense plan for a portal opening in the sky. The one for a nuclear attack is probably most relevant. To that end, we may want to start evacuating civilians in outlying areas into the city in case we need to put the shield up.” 

"Might be good to put the word out. No one has to move yet, but they could pack essentials.”

Nakia had stepped closer to the viewing screen, peering at it. She tapped one spot. “See that?” She’d pointed to one of the fighters, who was in an American flag-themed outfit. “That’s Captain America—the one from World War II with vibranium shield. They found him frozen in the arctic a couple weeks ago. The intel I got was fuzzy as to whether he was frozen alive and able to be reanimated, or they found a corpse and put someone else in the outfit. In any case, that is _definitely_ the original shield. Their weapons are just bouncing right off it.”

T'Challa watched the man fight a moment. "That's reassuring, at least. We'll be able to stand against them if they do make it here.”

She looked at him. “How much of an invasion are we going to stand here and watch?”

Historically, quite a lot. His great-great-grandfather had closed the borders and kept the country hidden in isolation while Europe overran the entire continent. When they reached the Wakandan border, the Belgians were turned back with the brutality they deserved—so much so a large-scale attempt was never tried again.

"I'm going to wait for it to get out of New York, at least," he said. There was a limit to his isolationism, and alien invasion was certainly over it. "The brightly colored heroes seem to be doing all right.”

“It’s probably the vibranium,” W’Kabi commented.

"I'm sure it doesn't hurt.”

“I’m going to go get to work,” W’Kabi said. “There is part of me that wouldn’t mind if just a few of those aliens turned up. My wife is really pissed of about this and would love to decapitate whomever is to blame.” He stopped and grinned, and then repeated, “My wife.”

T'Challa laughed and clapped him on the back. "Congratulations again, my friend.”

“Hopefully we’ll get to enjoy it tomorrow.” He saluted and left, leaving T’Challa and Nakia alone. She went over to her bag and began rifling in it, he assumed looking for clothes.

He went to watch the television again. "What do we think of the Americans having enhanced fighters?”

“I didn’t know they fought together, but I knew they existed individually. I admit I find it unnerving. The US doesn’t need any more help being a bully.”

"Especially with Tony Stark at the helm. I've never gotten a particularly responsible vibe from him. Though I concede he's made attempts to change since his kidnapping.”

She bumped his shoulder. “You do read the intel reports.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. "Of course I do.”

Nakia handed him his shirt, then used him as a brace to put on her shoes. “It’s going to be a long night, I think.”

"I think I prefer that to the alternative.”

They watched the Americans fight, and eventually defeat, the aliens. Then there were counsel meetings and strategy sessions. T’Challa barely managed to extricate himself long enough to see Nakia’s plane off. Particularly after this, she was needed out in the field. 

"Call me when you can," he told her, standing at the foot of the ramp with her.

“I will,” she said softly. “Sorry how this weekend turned out.”

"So am I, but it's neither of our faults. The world is getting smaller." He smirked. "And weirder.”

“Good luck with all of this.” She hugged him and pressed her face into his shoulder. “I love you.”

"I love you, too. Be safe.”

She squeezed him one more time, and then turned and went up the ramp.


	6. Chapter 6

After the aliens, the nature of Nakia’s missions began to change. Once all they had done was watch, more and more the War Dogs were given permission to do. It wasn’t that sharing of information or assistance that she’d wanted, but it was something. 

N’Gani told her he thought it was T’Challa’s growing voice within the Council that was influencing the changes. It went unsaid that what was influencing him was her, but that made her happy just the same. Even though it made her missions longer and more dangerous.

The fall of SHIELD, and its vast trove of information—which included amazingly little about Wakanda thanks to the very diligent efforts of her coworkers embedded there—prompted another set of adjustments. Terrorist organizations like Hydra had clearly grown into a global threat, and missions were aimed at undermining them and even taking them down.

Nakia was given one that was very complex, very dangerous, and very long.

She had a week "off" to rest up and prepare and spent as much of it with T'Challa as she could.

"You must promise not to fall in love with anyone else while you're gone."  
Who was doing his best to keep her spirits up with humor.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you not getting all territorial and trying to convince me not to go?” They’d gone up to the lake house for the weekend, and were out on the lanai watching the sun set.

"I'm not foolish enough to think it would get me anywhere. And I would rather enjoy our time together than spend it fighting.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “Is it okay to admit I’m nervous?”

"Of course it's okay." He tucked his arm around her. "I'd be more worried if you weren't nervous.”

“I think it might really do some good, though. And a long-term embed like this is big deal, professionally.”

"I know. It's a chance to make a real impact.”

She was quiet a long moment. She didn’t want to bring up what they hadn’t been talking about, but someone had to say it. “It’s going to be a year. Or more. Completely under cover.”

"I know.”

She couldn’t read his tone at all, which was rare. “A year is a long time.”

"Are you about to tell me not to wait for you again?”

“Would you listen if I did?”

"About as much as you'd listen if I got territorial and tried to get you not to go.”

Nakia smiled, relaxing a little. “Well. My conscience requires I at least offer.”

"Is it now appeased?”

She looked up, studying his very sincere face. “Yes,” she whispered.

"Good," he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her.

They kissed as the sun went down. Eventually she murmured, “That bathtub with the waterfall still there?”

"Of course it is.”

She stood up and held her hands out to him. “Nostalgia is always fun.”

"Especially naked nostalgia," he agreed, slipping his hands into hers.

He came to see her off like he always did. Only this time, because she’d be gone so long, so did everyone else, including her family. Her mother seemed about as proud as Nakia had ever seen her. Her father tried and failed at being stoic. Okoye ordered her not to die with such ferocity she was genuinely concerned this woman would stalk her into the afterlife just to yell at her.

When it was his turn, T'Challa hugged her tightly. "Bast watch over you.”

“You too,” she said. “Be good.”

"I'm sure Okoye will watch over me on your behalf." He leaned back and kissed her forehead. "I'm very proud of you.”

Every time she was home he reminded her why she loved him. 

It would be a year before she saw him again.

Her whole life, she had been River Tribe, and she had been Wakandan. Everyone outside their border was Other. Outsiders. None of her other missions had done a whole lot to disabuse her of that notion. The personas she adopted—a Kenyan heiress, an Algerian model, and others of similar vein—made use of her beauty and aristocratic bearing and its ability to open just about any door she wanted. She saw enough she wanted to help the world; she knew others suffered and that Wakanda could help.

But she hadn’t understood what it felt like to _really_ see it. To live in a village and realize the people in it were just like her people. To become part of them. And they she would have to watch mothers starve to feed their children. Just as often she’d starve herself to help feed their children. She’d watch them bleed to death in childbirth, or succumb to infection; watch their children die from diseases Wakandans had cured two hundred years ago.

Violence was swift, and brutal, and came out of nowhere. A large, organized terrorist group was raiding villages and kidnapping women, taking them deep into the jungle for what was assumed to be sexual slavery. No one really knew where the camp was, and Nakia’s job was to get kidnapped and find out. It was part of a larger project to bring the entire group down.

Her first attempted at getting kidnapped had failed. The men that came wanted to sample the merchandise—which their intel had said was generally not done as it would diminish their value—and she’d had to kill them.

Afterwards she made her way back to Gombe to reset and check in with her boss, and was astonished to be scolded. She wasn’t expected to let them rape her, but would a bit of groping have been that bad, given the work that had gone into the op? She was so incensed she stared at the text message for a good ten minutes. She thought about quitting and going home. She thought about quitting and joining a Nigerian village permanently. 

Long ago, she’d promised herself she would never bring her relationship with T’Challa into her work, but she was so pissed off she found herself replying, _Feel free to pull me from the mission and issue a reprimand. I’m sure it will work out well for you when I tell the Prince why I’m home._

There was a very, _very_ long pause on the communicator before the reply. _Try again. Use your best judgement._

The second time she was successfully captured, no groping required. And she was on her way to the camp, in the back of a truck, when said Prince dropped right out of the sky.

He took out a truck full of armed men as if they were mere annoyances, she was barely able to stop him from doing the same with the child soldier the man had scooped up with the women. She couldn't see his face behind the mask, but that rather besotted way he said, "Hi" when he saw her was almost enough to cool her anger.

Then he continued to apparently stare at her—something he had done off and on since they’d met and she found adorable in all non-battle situations, but this time almost got someone killed as they’d missed a terrorist.

Okoye handled it, and mocked T’Challa for freezing while she did it. Nakia really thought about hugging her, but T’Challa had taken his helmet off and she turned on him instead. “Why are you here? You ruined my mission!” If this was about the last mission and the groping and he’d come to “rescue” her she was going to murder him where he stood. Treason be damned.

"My father is dead, Nakia," he said quietly, glancing away from her. "I am to be crowned king tomorrow. I wish for you to be there.”

Well, that knocked the wind out of her, along with all her anger. She searched for words, but all she could do was nod, and for a moment he looked so sad she just wanted to put her arms around him. Instead she went to see the women who’d scrambled out of the back of the truck, bidding them to go home and take the boy with them.

Then the three of them boarded the jet. Okoye hugged her and said, “It’s good to see you,” before heading up to the cockpit.

T’Challa was just sort of staring into space as the jet lifted. She touched his back, and he turned, wrapping her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry about your mission," he mumbled.

“Hush,” she replied. “It’s all right.”

"At least the girls will get home all right.”

“They will.” She nudged him towards a seat. “What. . . what happened?”

He sighed and sat. "We went to a UN meeting. A summit for the Avengers to sign a document putting them under UN control. My father wanted to use it as a step to Wakanda joining the world. And there . . . was a bomb.”

She sucked in a small breath. He told her whole story, about pursuing the man he’d thought responsible, and discovering he was a victim, too. About taking the real perpetrator to Germany and handing him to the authorities—a feat Nakia admired. She’d have killed him and not lost a moment of sleep. 

“I came home,” he told her. “We buried my father. I put Barnes in a cryo tank in Shuri’s lab.”

“And then you came to fish me out of Nigeria.” 

He smiled. "More or less.”

“How much have you slept?”

"Mother and Shuri made sure I had a full night before coming for you.”

“Perhaps they were worried I might challenge you for your throne tomorrow.”

He grinned. "I assumed you and W'Kabi would gang up on me.”

It was good to see him smile. She stroked the side of his face, and leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you for coming to get me. I would not have wanted to miss it.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I couldn't do it without you there.”

She fought a yawn, and when he raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “I have been awake for. . . actually I don’t even know, as I don’t know what day it is. We could only doze in the back of the truck.”

"Get some rest," he told her. "It will be busy once we get home.”

“What I would really love is some food,” she said. “And then I will lay down, if you do too.”

"I will get you some food and we will discuss lying down." He kissed her lightly and stood, going to the other room to dig out some food.

While he did that, she went up to the front of the jet, where Okoye was flying. “How are you holding up?”

She glanced at her. "I was not there, when it happened. I have been trying not to think what would have happened if I had been.”

Nakia didn’t expect Okoye thought she could have saved the King from something that T’Challa and his superhuman strength could not. But she didn’t doubt she’d have tried. “His Dora?”

“In the hallway,” Okoye replied, practically spitting the words out. “Protocol.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to stop a bomb, either.”

"That brings me no comfort," she said. Nakia knew her well enough to know the sharpness was hiding her grief. "My only comfort is that T'Challa was unharmed. And brought the man responsible to justice.”

“I’d have brought his head home on a spear.”

Okoye grinned, showing teeth. "As would I.”

“Our new King is a more merciful person than either of us.” She cleared her throat. “Possibly put together.”

"He has a good head on his shoulders," Okoye agreed. "When he doesn't freeze.”

Nakia smiled, squeezing Okoye’s shoulder as she saw T’Challa come back out with food. “You want something to eat?”

"I'm fine, thank you. Enjoy your meal.”

It was less a meal that a large pile of snacks, but it was _Wakandan_ food, so she was very happy to eat it. She even got T’Challa to eat some of it. Afterwards, they converted some of the seats into cots and managed to curl up on one of them together. His suit was stiff and poky in places, but it felt very nice to be in his arms again.

Things were going to change between them. There was no avoiding that. But for right now, all she wanted to focus on was right now. And he needed her. They both needed a little sleep.

They dozed for a few hours. She must have slept harder than she thought, because at some point he’d managed to get up without disturbing her. When she woke to the rising sun, he was just sitting, staring into the middle distance and looking like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. She supposed it must feel like it did.

She climbed up and sat next to him, reached for his hand and lacing their fingers together. All she could really do was let him know he wasn’t alone.

“Sister Nakia,” Okoye called from the front. “My Prince. We are home.”

T'Challa squeezed her hand and stood, walking to the front of the ship to watch the descent. They passed members of the Border tribe herding their flocks, waving at the ship as it passed. As they reached the tree line T'Challa said, almost to himself, "This never gets old.”

They dive-bombed right into the trees, and no matter how many time Nakia had done it, sheer instinct made her heartbeat spike when they looked about to crash. Instead the plunged through the image, the holographic shield that hid them from airplanes and satellites giving way to a view of the glittering city.

Okoye threaded through skyscrapers and they landed at the palace, where a company of Dora Milaje, and the Queen and Princess Shuri waited. Nakia wanted to hug both of them, but everyone was on formal protocols. Even T’Challa didn’t touch her outside the jet. She was pretty quickly whisked away to prepare for the coronation ceremony, and she could feel his eyes on her the whole way.

In the River province, both her parents met her plane. They managed to hug her at the same time, probably settling some sort of argument over who got to be first. She had to admit, it was nice to be home.

“We didn’t know you were coming home until about an hour ago,” her mother said. “We were going to present your cousin Jengo as our Warrior for the challenge.” Her face indicated she didn’t approve of this choice.

“I know he’s kind of an idiot,” her father said. “But he looked the best in ceremonial garb.”

“He’d make a terrible King,” her mother said, rolling her eyes.

“You make it sound like we’re issuing a challenge.” 

“It’s the principal of the thing. We should present a warrior who could be king, and at least has a passing chance of wining a challenge. Jengo couldn’t hit a rhino with a canon from 3 feet away.”

“You know, I really could not take T’Challa in a fight,” Nakia said. “If that’s a source of concern to you two.”

"Oh, but wouldn't it be fun to try?" her mother said with a grin.

“Yes, but I think it would get kind of awkward for the audience pretty quickly.”

Her mother laughed and her father made a face. "Come," he said. "Let's get you in the mud.”


	7. Chapter 7

They had her soaked and scrubbed and done up in time to board the boats to take them out to the falls. Nakia decided to try not to think too much about the future. Would she be expected to stay? Did she want to? She had no idea, but it was a gorgeous day to be dancing out on the river, and that was enough to pay attention to. The country had been in mourning, and she’d been with terrorists in the jungle. It was time for a little joy.

When they reached the waterfall and the tribes took their places, T'Challa made his entrance. He definitely looked good in his ceremonial garb.

It was hard to watch him lose his powers, but she reminded herself it was just a formality. None of the tribes were in a position to challenge him, and sure enough they all passed when given the chance. Nakia sort of sympathized with Shuri's joke, even as the rest of them groaned.

No one expected the sounds of the Jabari tribe arriving.

There had not been an actual challenger for the throne in generations. Wakanda was fairly politically stable—grievances that might provoke a challenge would be negotiated out ahead of time. But the Jabari didn’t participate in the Council of Elders, or anything else for that matter. 

Nakia thought T’Challa would be well within his rights to tell M’Baku to piss off—his people didn’t participate in Wakandan government or society, and really shouldn’t be able to just crash the coronation. But then M’Baku had to go and insult Shuri—which was rich coming from the tribe that shunned vibranium wholesale. What the hell did they care who designed the technology they didn’t use? 

But the real point of this challenge, apparently, was about how T’Challa hadn’t been able to keep his father safe. The fighter in her knew it was a useful tactic—unbalance your opponent by poking at an emotional wound that was clearly still very raw. But it made Nakia want to throw a spear at him nonetheless. And it guaranteed T’Challa would take the challenge. He didn’t even let M’Baku finish his declaration of intent.

When the Dora were ordered into the water for the fight, Okoye looked like she was seriously considering throwing a spear, too.

All any of them could do after that was watch.

It was a brutal fight and there were a few heart stopping moments she thought T'Challa might come out the worse for it. But with the Queen Mother cheering him on he found his footing and soon had the Jabari leader in a lock at the edge of the waterfall. She couldn't hear what T'Challa said to him, but M'Baku tapped out and a cheer went up.

The crowd screamed and clapped and danced as Zuri finally, officially put the necklace on him and crowned him king. Nakia honestly felt like several years had been taken off her life. She wondered if this was how he felt when she went into the field. 

He went with Zuri to complete the Black Panther ceremony and the rest of them began to disperse. One of the Dora came over to Nakia and saluted. "His Highness has requested your presence at the palace when you have had a chance to change.”

She supposed she could expect this level of formality now. “Thank you. I will be there as soon as I am able.”

It took longer getting home than it had coming out and she was frankly a little exhausted. She knew taking the heart shaped herb and visiting the ancestors could take a while, so she took her time, showering and changing and taking a nap, before taking a shuttle into the city.

When she arrived at the palace, she was taken up to the royal family’s rooms. The Queen Mother and Shuri were having dinner, and a place had been set for her. She sank gratefully into the chair. “I was a little afraid there would be a party,” she said. When he’d had his first Black Panther ceremony, there had been a huge party afterwards. 

"T'Challa wanted to keep it simple," Queen Mother said. "He hoped the tribes would celebrate in their own ways.”

“Mine is probably getting drunk and swimming naked,” she replied, because that’s how they partied. “It goes over better without the other tribes present.”

"I always knew the River Tribe was the fun tribe," Shuri said.

“I will say, I would love it if you had some alcohol around here somewhere. Today has been, well. . .” She didn’t need to tell either of them.

"Of course." Ramona gestured to one of the servants who ducked out and returned with a bottle of wine and a bottle of Wakandan liquor as well as glasses for both.

She sighed as the liquor burned down. “Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t in the mood for the night swim.”

"You are alway welcome at the palace, Nakia. We're glad to see you, despite the circumstances.”

“I’m so glad we found you,” Shuri said. “Seriously, three days I had my whole lab just looking for you. I thought he was going to lose his mind.”

Ramonda shushed her, and Nakia took another drink, not entirely knowing what to say to that. She hadn’t had a whole lot of time to contemplate it, but she’d been deep undercover. She’d have been very hard to find, and he must have been very determined.

The door opened and T'Challa stepped in, looking tired but freshly showered and no worse for the wear. He grinned when he saw them. "Ah, almost all my favorite ladies in one room.”

The other two women both leapt up and rushed to him, and he hugged them both at once. “I saw him,” she heard him say, sounding happier than she’d heard all day. “I saw him.” This commenced a round of tears.

Nakia held back, letting them have their family moment.

He kissed both their cheeks, then looked at her, grinning. "You made it.”

“Of _course_ I made it.”

The others let him go so he could step forward and hug her tightly. "Thank you for not challenging me.”

She pressed her face into his neck and mumbled, “I’d have challenged the other guy.”

He chuckled and rubbed her back. "M'Baku is a problem for another day.”

After a moment she leaned back and looked at him. “You’re okay? Your stab wound healed?”

"Yes, while I was in the trance. I'm well and whole, if a bit tired from it all.”

She gestured at the table. “There’s plenty of food, you’ve got to be hungry.”

He growled a little and put a hand on her back, guiding her back to her seat and holding the chair for her to sit before taking his place and piling an an enormous amount of food onto his plate. For the moment she was content to watch him eat, and make conversation with his mother and sister. 

This was the life that waited for her if she wanted it. But the more she looked at the sumptuous spread of food, all she could think about was endless bowls of thin porridge and children fighting over chicken bones. They had so much here, and the gave _nothing_.

T’Challa was looking at her oddly, and she shook her head to clear it. Not tonight. She’d worry about her conscience tomorrow.

Dinner wrapped up quickly, with Shuri darting off to her labs and the Queen Mother retiring to her quarters after kissing T'Challa's cheek one more time.

He offered Nakia an arm and lead her out to the balcony looking out over the city. "Stay tonight?”

She looked up at him. “I’m almost offended you thought I’d do any different.”

"I'm tired, it seemed polite to ask. Maybe you wanted some naked river drunkenness.”

“Aside from a few naps I have been awake for 36 hours now, if you want to talk about tired. I think if I tried to swim, I’d drown.” 

He grinned and kissed her. "Let's go to bed, then.”

*

If they’d had any vague intentions of doing something other than sleep, it didn’t matter as they were both asleep the moment they hit the bed. And they slept hard. When T’Challa opened his eyes it was full daylight in his bedroom.

Nakia was still asleep by his side, so he decided his first day as king could wait a little bit longer and rolled to tug her closer. He felt her stir, and snuggle up against him. “Morning,” she murmured. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

"Yes, it is," he agreed, breathing in her scent. "Did you sleep well?”

“You have no idea. It’s been a long time since I slept in a bed this nice.”

He tried to resist commenting, but it came out anyway. "I missed you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes serious. “I always miss you.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he sighed and kissed her instead. They had only just woken up. He could start his begging later. She melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck, mouth opening under his. He groaned, leaning down, pulling her beneath him as he let the kiss deepen.

All she’d slept in was underwear and a flimsy tank top, which was trivial to get off—though when he broke the kiss to pull it over her head, before he could kiss her again, she whispered, “Wait, wait.”

He lifted off of her. "What is it?”

“Just taking a moment to make sure there are no aliens. Or some other damn thing.”

They both paused a moment, waiting for the communicators to chime of the knock on the door. After a moment he grinned. "I think we might be safe.”

She grinned back, and honestly it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It had been such an awful week. Maybe the worst of his life. And here at the end of it was her. With a sigh of contentment, he bent to kiss her again, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“We are safe,” she murmured against his mouth, and he knew she was talking about more than interruptions. She lifted up, taking control of the kiss, and in it he tasted urgency and need.

He rolled them, not breaking the kiss, so that she was on top and could run the show a bit. He knew very little of what she had been through on her mission, but he imagined she might have some things to work out as much as he did. She straightened up, and reached down to touch the spot where the spear had pierced him as if she were checking it. Making sure he was healed. Then she stroked her hands down his chest, fingertips tracing along the outlines of his muscles. “I could have challenged you,” she told him.

"You could," he agreed. The idea was almost as terrifying as the brief second he'd thought Shuri was actually challenging him. "Though I can think of an easier way for you to be queen.”

“No, no, beating you would have been much faster.” She trailed her fingers along his side, making him shiver. “I know where all your ticklish spots are.”

"That would have been far more fun than the fight with M’Baku.”

She bent to kiss his mouth, then his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “Might be sorry we had an audience.”

"Mmm." He ran his hands down her back, cupping her hips. "I'm sure they'd have looked away eventually.” 

She chuckled, and he thought about that week at the lake all those years ago, fooling around on the hilltop, or out in the water at night. She didn’t seem actually exhibitionist, but she loved the idea that someone _might_ see them. She kissed his chest and he felt her sliding herself downward. “I have plenty of ways of making you yield.”

He groaned, hands sliding over her skin. "You know all my secrets," he confirmed.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she replied, and then he felt her warm, wet mouth and whatever reply he’d had scattered with the rest of his thoughts.

He stroked her hair, arching his hips up into her heat. She really did know all of his weaknesses. It was only a matter of minutes before he tugged at her. “Enough."

“You never have any patience,” she said as she crawled back up him. 

"Not after this long apart, no.”

“It has never been this long,” she replied. She kissed him once, deep and messy, and then she straightened. He watched her rise up on her knees and sink back down to take him inside her. It felt familiar and right and brand new at the same time.

Running his hands along the smooth skin of her legs, he watched her start to move, slow at first, then faster as she found the rhythm that worked best for her. She was as beautiful as the day he had met her. He wished he could wake up to this - to her - every morning. 

She tipped her head back, gasping for air. A small whimper on each exhale told him she was close. She was always so quiet. He thought it was the spy in her. He slipped a hand between them, stroking her clit in swift circles to help tip her over the edge. She grabbed his wrist to hold his hand there, nails biting into his skin. For a heartbeat she was so still she didn’t breathe, and then she whispered, “Oh, Bast,” in a voice that sounded like surrender as her body began to pulse around him.

He grit his teeth, lifting into her and finding his own relief as hers petered out. She sank down onto his chest and he caught her, pressing a breathless kiss to her forehead.

She made a contented sound. “No matter how long, you still feel the same.”

"So do you," he whispered.

“We can’t just stay in this room all day, can we?”

"I'm pretty sure I have to go do king things.”

“Mmm.” She rolled off him and stretched languidly, which he enjoyed seeing. “Lets go out for breakfast first. I missed Wakandan food as much as I missed you.”

"That seems a reasonable compromise.”

“I’m going to shower,” she said, climbing up. She paused at the foot of the bed and asked, “Want to join?”

"Always," he told her, rolling out of bed.

Afterwards they went into the city. He took a contingent of Doras with them—he was King now and couldn’t leave the palace without them, which might take some getting used to—and made a reservation at the hottest brunch place in town.

Which Nakia promptly rolled her eyes at. “We’re going to take a table from someone who’s had their reservation for weeks. Besides, I want real food. Not a fancy chef who brags about smuggling in Atlantic Salmon. Which is probably out of a can from an American Walmart.”

He grinned and shook his head. "Is there a word for a reverse snob?”

“Someone has to balance you out,” she said. So he took him down to the old part of town, and they got food out of a street cart. He thought there might be a problem with crowds or people fussing. . . but everyone was very chill. It would not have been like that in a fancy restaurant, he had to admit. Wakandan high society was much more likely to fawn.

They wandered around the market, stopping at various shops and stalls. People wished him well and asked him questions and tried to offer him free things, but everyone was very genial about it. Smoozing really was not his thing, but Nakia could make conversation with literally anyone, making it feel natural that the King was browsing for woven bags and buying oranges.

He watched her as they strolled the marketplace. She glanced at him a few times, expectant, but didn't say anything. Finally, he couldn't hold back his thoughts any longer. "Come home, Nakia.”

She pretended not to know what he was asking. “I’m right here.”

"Stay," he said, stopping so she'd be forced to do the same.

She reached out and slid her hands into his, squeezing them. “I came to support you. And honor your father. But I can’t stay.” She looked off at the crowds. These were Wakanda’s lower classes, but no one here went without food or shelter or medicine or any of the basics of life. She walked a few steps, still holding his hand. “It’s just that I’ve found my calling out there. I’ve seen to many in need to turn a blind eye.” She stopped walking and looked at him seriously. “I can’t be happy here knowing there are people out there who have nothing.”

It was, in some ways, the answer he'd expected. And he had never been one to say no without attempting diplomacy. "What would you have Wakanda do about it?”

"Share what we have," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And also the answer he expected. Part of him wasn't surprised she didn't start in on it last night. "We could provide aid, and access to technology, and refuge to those who need it. Other countries do it," she added, shrugging her shoulders like it was no big deal. "We could do it better." She smacked her hand with her fist for emphasis. 

For a moment he wanted to say yes, just because of how animated she was. He wanted to promise her anything if only she'd stay. But he was King now, and he didn't have his father's final say as cover any more. He had a whole country to worry about and not just what he wanted. "We are not like these other countries, Nakia. If the world found out what we truly are, what we possess, we could lose our way of life."

She looked unsurprised, but not resigned. She looked like he was digging in for a fight. He'd known her long enough he could tell before she said a word. "Wakanda is strong enough to protect ourselves and help others at the same time."

They were probably going to debate this endlessly, for however long she was here. Maybe it would be long enough she changed his mind. Maybe it would be long enough they found a middle ground. It was enough to give him hope. So he smiled at her. "If you were not so stubborn, you would make a great queen."

Immediately, she said, "I would make a great queen _because_ I am so stubborn."

"See, you admit it!"

She laughed, holding up a hand. " _If_ that's what I wanted." They started walking again. "If I'd challenged you I could have had all the international outreach programs I wanted," she mused, reaching to take his hand again. 

"Pity you missed your chance," he said. "Now you are stuck with me.”

“It wouldn’t have been a fair fight unless you put a shirt on.”

He grinned. "I don't recall seeing that in the rules.”

“Because the rules are made by men.” She stopped at a vendor selling fried dough. “I need some of this.” It was covered in powdered sugar, which she was going to get all over her face and then lick off her fingers. Both of which he would enjoy watching.

He used his beads to pay for a piece, despite the vendor trying to wave him off. "If you stayed, I could ply you with fried foods all the time.”

Nakia munched it a moment, then said, “If I stayed here I could have everything I’ve every wanted. Everything anyone could ever want, really. Anything I ask for.” 

"That is one of the perks of being queen.”

She pointed in a random direction. “And a couple hundred miles that way there are children dying of malaria. We’ve had that vaccine for a hundred years.” There had been some logic—at the time—of closely guarding their medical knowledge. The thinking had been that tropical diseases slowed the European invaders because it killed them in higher numbers than locals. But it was still a tactic with a brutal death count of innocents. And long outdated. 

He inclined his head to indicated she'd won that point. "There are certainly medical breakthroughs we could discuss leaking without putting our other secrets at risk.”

She lifted her chin. “Well, it’s a start.”

"I am not unwilling to negotiate.”

“I don’t want to use myself as bait or make an ultimatum. Do these things or I’ll leave.”

"I know, I know. That's not how I meant it.”

She finished the last of her pastry and did, in fact, lick her fingers. “I need to help. And going out there and doing my work is the only way I know how. I don’t want to grow to resent you. Resent our life.”

"Well," he said. "We can keep talking about it.”

“You did trash my mission, so I’ve got some time on my hands for a little bit here.” She laughed. “You know, for a moment I thought you were coming to ‘rescue’ me from it and I honestly wanted to stab you.”

"And you would have been well within your rights to do so." He touched her cheek. "Never doubt I have trust you and your skills. My desire to keep you here is entirely selfish.”

She turned her face into his hand a little. “The selfish part of me desperately wants to stay.”

He laughed a little, though there was no humor in it. "At least those parts agree.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the completion of _Despite All Your Losing_ this story will post Tuesdays and Fridays and _Winding_ will post Mondays and Thursdays.

That afternoon, Nakia had plans with her family, and T’Challa had plenty to do in the palace. None of which he wanted to do. None of which was immediately urgent. He spent a bit of time moving things from his office—his old office—to the much larger office traditionally used by the King. Baba’s office. He couldn’t bring himself to pack his father’s things, but he didn’t really want to sit among them either.

Okoye came in to give him a military report, which he needed to pay attention to, but his eye caught a little wooden figuring on one of the shelves. It sat among priceless antiques, and he had made it when he was a little boy.

It took him a moment to realize Okoye had stopped talking, and was just sitting there with her eyebrows raised.

"I apologize. I'm not entirely. . . comfortable in the office yet.”

She studied him a moment. “Maybe you should get some fresh air.”

"I'm fine," he said immediately.

“I’m sure you are,” she said easily. “But everything looks better with a little sunshine.”

He sighed. He'd never won an argument with Okoye and probably wouldn't start now. "A walk might do me good.”

“Perhaps you could take your first official tour of the border security as King. Give my husband something to do on his day off besides send me messages about cleaning rhinoceros poop and what I did with the last of the dried tamarind.”

"Using him to distract me and me to distract him. Always a tactician, Okoye.”

“I am the best for a reason, my King.”

"That is very true." He got to his feet. "Contact me if anything comes up.”

“You have my word.”

W’Kabi did distract him—and fed him a snack, since he’d apparent found the tamarind and was cooking when T’Challa got there. They had a nice conversation about rhino training and if they thought M’Baku and the Jabari were going to make trouble.

Then he had to go and ask about Nakia. Having been friends with someone for 25 years had its downsides, such as their ability to read your face. T’Challa told W’Kabi a little about what she’d asked of him—and was unsurprised to find him on the opposite side.

It was probably for the best that Okoye interrupted them when she did. He wanted to fight with W'Kabi even less than he did Nakia. His friend has as much reason to hate and distrust outsiders as she did to want to help them.

A good king would find some way to make them both happy. But he wasn't quite there yet.

*

“What is this made out of? Goat hair?”

Before they left for Korea, Nakia went to see the wardrobe team that outfitted the War Dogs for missions, to get clothing for her and Okoye. Vibranium laced formalwear—that you could fight it—was worth the trip. She got a variety of other costume items, which Okoye was now going through on the flight to Busan. Okoye did not approve of the wigs. “I believe they are synthetic,” Nakia told her. “And you’re going to have to pick one.”

The look she gave her would have soured milk. “Why?"

“Because your head is very conspicuous.”

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Nakia gestured at her head. “The tattoos.” 

Okoye huffed out an annoyed breath. "These will look ridiculous.”

“It could be worse.” Nakia was in the middle of teasing out her own hair out, carefully unwinding each knot.

“Yes, I can see you making nice handholds for your enemies.”

“See? At least the wig comes off.”

"When this mission is done it's coming off right into the trash incinerator.”

“Wardrobe usually wants that stuff back,” Nakia said mildly, but she wasn’t going to argue with Okoye. She pointed to another box. “You’d better like your shoes, I had a huge fight about them.”

"I have to wear shoes?" she asked in distaste. Nakia wasn't entirely sure if she was kidding or not.

“Will you just open the box?” Instead of any of the variety of western shoes, Nakia had convinced wardrobe to take a pair of Okoye’s uniform boots and paint them gold to look fancier.

Okoye made a little pleased noise when she did finally lift the lid, then schooled her face back to its resting neutral. "These will do.”

“And they promised me you can do a full high kick in the dress.”

"Good. Hopefully, we won't need to.”

“I don’t think the odds of this going peacefully are very high. And, even if it did, I figured you’d want to kick Klaue in the head at least once anyway.” 

"I did promised W'Kabi he would not go gently," she agreed with an incline of her head.

“There you go. Whack him in the nuts with your spear, I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.”

"That is a perfectly legitimate fighting strategy.”

Nakia laughed. “It absolutely is. But you know how it freaks the men out.”

"That's part of what makes it such a good strategy.” 

They landed in Korea a couple hours later. They had to put wings out and land like a traditional aircraft, which was unpleasantly bumpy, but the car Shuri had sent was waiting for them. She drove them to the hotel and valeted the car. Advance had booked them three rooms. She supposed it had seemed easier to just do that than ask awkward questions about she and T’Challa’s sleeping arrangements. 

Nakia didn’t mind, though. It let her get dolled up in private.

The look on his face when he saw her in her slinky green dress was priceless. "I should tag along on your missions more often," he told her.

She did a turn. It was slit on both sides, all the way up to the top of her thighs—so she could run and fight in it. The way he was looking at her made her want to just forget the mission entirely.

"Do you always look like this?" he asked her running a finger along her arm.

She shivered a little. “Sometimes. Sometimes I look like I did when you picked me up in the forrest.”

"So always beautiful.”

Okoye came out of her room, wig and all. “Come on. I don’t want to have to stand here and watch you flirt, I have a goat pelt on my head.”

T'Challa winked and mouthed "Later" at Nakia before offering them each an arm to head down to the lobby. They got the car and she drove them to the alley outside the casino’s hidden entrance, parking on the street.

“Bast willing this will go quickly,” Okoye said. “So I can get this ridiculous thing off my head.”

Nakia had seen Okoye sit still and silent and stoic for hours while she had entire scalp tattooed, so she found her continued irritation at the wig kind of funny. “I think it looks nice,” Nakia said. “Just whip it back and forth.” She tossed her head a little.

All that got her was a disgusted face and an even more disgusted, “What?”

Nakia knew the owner of this particular casino, though it was a little bumpy getting in, as Sophia was concerned they’d be trouble. Since Nakia had been the last time she was there. But charm won in the end—though if it hadn’t, money would have. It always did.

They went through a metal detector, which couldn’t pick up vibranium, and into the club. They stood on the railing overlooking the casino a moment, before T’Challa said, “Spread out. The buyer is likely already here.”

Okoye took the upstairs, and T’Challa offered her his arm so they could walk down to the casino floor. Where she discovered that sometime in the past couple of years he had apparently learned some amount of Korean. “The woman outside. . . what trouble was she referring to?”

Trying not to smile too much, she replied, “I got into a disagreement with some ivory traders.” In that she disagreed with their existence, though their bragging about the elephants they killed did not do them any favors. “I made a bit of a mess.” At the time, Sophia had been so amused by the idea of these three burly, two meter tall men getting absolutely laid out by one tiny woman in stilettos—which were fabulous weapons—that she’d told Nakia not to worry about it.

In fact, T'Challa's little "Mm," sounded more impressed than anything else. "And will there be any trouble tonight, Miss Kenyan heiress?”

“Depends,” she said, she said seriously, causing him to look at her. When they made eye contact she added, “On how quickly we finish the mission.”

"Can we please focus?" came Okoye's exasperated voice over the comms. Nakia wandered off towards the bar, leaving T'Challa to hit the tables. Okoye all but sing songed, "Thank you," when they clearly separated.

She ordered a drink, and noted the Americans that walked in. Okoye noticed more, out of her field of vision. Then T’Challa found someone from the CIA. Which made the whole thing much messier.

Then Klaue showed up, with a bunch of armed goons and the subtlety of a freight train. They argued a bit over the comm about whether and when to act, Nakia pushing one way and T’Challa the other. Already irritated with them, and her probably itchy head, Okoye snapped back at them in Wakandan. . . which got one of the goons attention.

A moment later, she tossed one of them over the balcony, and then bullets started flying.

It occurred to her, between taking her shoes off to beat someone with the high heel, and disarming him to she could shoot back, that Sophia was absolutely never going to allow her in here again.

Klaue fled, and she and Okoye, sans goat pelt, threw themselves in the car and gave chase.

Eventually, someone leaned out the window of the car they were chasing, and began shooting at them, bullets pointlessly pinging off their vibranium car.

“Guns,” Okoye muttered. “So primitive.” Right about then they stopped firing, so Okoye put her window down and climbed out, telling Nakia to keep driving. All she could do was mutter and gesticulate at the roof of the car. . . which her friend was now riding like a damn surf board.

She was dimly aware of the spear going past the windshield. She definitely saw the car she was chasing flip and crash from the impact. She swerved around it, staying close enough for Okoye to grab the spear back, and stepped on it to keep up with the remaining car.

In her ear, she could hear T'Challa and Shuri chasing the other car. Shuri called her brother a show off, and Nakia hoped someone had a good video of whatever he'd done.

She caught up to the car with Klaue in it and yelled for Okoye to hold on as she floored it, taking a hill a bit too fast. They crested another hill, giving Okoye a perfect target of the other car, only to have Klaue shoot . . . something from his fake arm.

It hit the car and blew it to pieces. It was a sonic canon, she realized. A Wakandan weapon, deactivating the vibranium like the stabilizers for Shuri’s trains. It didn’t harm either her or Okoye, and they both skidded slowly to a stop with the wreckage, Okoye on a remnant of the hood, Nakia still in her seat. 

They were still standing there in stunned silence when the American CIA agent pulled up and called for them to get in his car. He seemed to be on their side, and her very well trained gut told her to trust him.

When they caught up with Klaue, T’Challa had him, and she and Okoye had to remind him of the size of the crowd gathered, before T’Challa killed him in front of 50 recording cell phones.

Klaue got tossed into the back of Agent Ross’s vehicle. T’Challa had pulled off the weaponized prosthetic arm, and Okoye rode the whole way back to the CIA field office sitting on him, her knee on his throat. Nakia was amused that her friend, who was so deft she could ride the roof of a moving car, managed to crack Klaue’s head against the doorframe on both the way and and out. Accidentally, of course.

Once Klaue had been tossed in a holding cell, Ross turned to them and said, “It’s one AM. Let him marinate overnight and soften up a little. Everybody get some sleep. We’ll take a crack at him tomorrow.”

For a moment, T'Challa looked like he might argue. But he was too good a negotiator for that. Instead, he inclined his head. "Of course. We will be at your offices bright and early.”

Because their car had been blown up, Nakia then got to take T’Challa and Okoye on their first taxi ride, back to their hotel.

"I can't wait to go home," Okoye muttered as she climbed out of the car.

“We’ll collect Klaue in the morning, and then we’ll go home,” T’Challa said.

“None of us is awake enough to fly safely anyway,” Nakia added.

"Still," Okoye said. "I can't wait to go home.”

Nakia patted her arm in the elevator. “Call your husband and tell him Klaue has been apprehended.”

She smiled. "That will please him." She looked over at T'Challa. "We must not leave without him."

He inclined his head. "I know, Okoye. I'm working on it.”

The doors opened and they walked down the hall. Okoye went into her room without a word. Nakia stopped at hers and looked up at T’Challa. “You want to come in?”

"Very much.”

She opened the door and stepped inside, waiting for him to follow. The suit had shredded his clothes, but he hadn’t wanted to stroll through the lobby in it, so he was wearing a gray track suit that Ross had dug up for him. It was both too short, and too big, and was a funny contrast to the fancy dress she was still wearing.

He plucked at the shirt. "Ross is being very accommodating. I'm not sure how suspicious to be.”

“He got what he wanted, the vibranium.” She tugged up his shirt. “If I were him, I’d be happy to have someone take Klaue off my hands. CIA is spies. We hate paperwork.”

T'Challa snorted. "That was before we blew up half the city.”

“That’s between you and the South Korean government. Not America’s problem.” She pulled on the shirt again. “Arms up.”

He obeyed this time, letting her peel it off. “Much better,” she murmured. She never got tired of looking at him. For the moment she touched just the necklace that contained his suit, impressed with how tiny it was. 

"Shuri outdid herself," he commented. "It took good care of me.”

“Good.” She leaned forward to kiss his chest. “Watching it appear on you was pretty hot.”

"I don't think that was her intent," he said with a grin. "But I'll appreciate ate it as a side benefit.”

“My work is dangerous. Which I like. But certain missions, ones like this one gets the adrenaline going. . .I end up longing for you when it’s over.”

"So you can have your wicked ways with me?”

“Yes,” she told him. Might as well be honest. She lifted her face. “There’s never been anyone else.”

He smiled and stroked a hand down her cheek. "For me, either.”

She kissed him again, slowly and deeply, sucking his lower lip between her teeth. “Usually I have to entertain myself.”

He groaned, hands curling around her hips. "The imagination runs wild.”

“I imagine all sorts of things.” She carefully lifted the necklace over his head. “You lifting me against the door, ripping my dress off.”

Another groan, and the next thing she knew her feet were off the floor and she was pinned against the door. "Like this?" he rumbled.

“Yes,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around him. He was so strong he held her up with one hand, the other sliding up her leg beneath the slit in her dress. “There’s vibranium in the fabric, I don’t know if even you’re strong enough to—“ She broke off at the sound of ripping and looked down. He was pulling the seams open. He’d designed this fabric. She supposed he’d know where it was weak.

When it was ripped all the way up to her waist, he shifted and cupped his hand around her thigh. Sliding slowly upwards, he met her gaze just as his fingers brushed her core. Her whole body throbbed with need. “That was exactly what was next,” she whispered, letting her head fall back against the door.

He pressed his mouth to her throat, sucking lightly on the skin as he stroked her, circling her clit with his fingertips. He was going to leave a mark, and she didn’t care. He left marks on her all the time, bruises from his fingers digging into her skin when his self-control thinned. She scraped her nails down his back, even though it was impossible to leave a mark on him.

Hefting her higher, he trailed kissed along he chest, nipping her breast through the fabric if her dress. She reached behind her neck to unfasten the dress, peeling it down for him and leaving it bunched around her waist. She wanted it off, wanted them both to be naked, but this would do for now. It gave him access to suck her nipple, tongue swirling around it. His fingers sped up on her clit, pressing harder as she started to writhe against him. “More,” she begged him, and he slid his fingers inside her, giving her body something to squeeze around. She hung on the edge for what felt like an eternity—he knew just how to touch her, just how to find exactly what she needed. All she could do was let go, and pleasure washed through her.

He held her as she shook, leaning firmly into the door. He was breathing almost as hard as she was and his kiss, when she'd calmed, was on the verge of frantic. “What do you want, my love?” she murmured against his mouth.

"You," he whispered. "In all possible ways.”

She dragged her nails over his shoulders. “Right here? Or put me down and rip the rest of this dress off?”

"You have ten seconds to tell me your preference.”

He was clearly at the very end of his patience. She wondered if it was bad just how arousing she found that. “You can fuck me any way you wish, but I really want the dress gone.”

Without a word, he lowered her and pushed the dress down, letting it slide off her legs to puddle on the floor. Then he lifted her again, pressed her agains the door and slid into her body. She was still sensitive and he stretched her and she cried out it felt so good. She could tell it pleased him, he loved it when he got her to make noise. She could also feel his desperation in the way he moved; it was fast and hard and rough.

His hands roamed her, cupping and shaping her hip, her breast. With a sound a bit like a growl, he shifted her higher, stroking deeper into her on his next thrust. Their bodies slid against each other. He door rattled and the wood creaked and she feared it might give and spill them into the hall. They weren’t in Wakanda where everything had vibranium in it. The mental image of that was hot—fantasies always were, but she braced her hands on the doorframe anyway. It felt incredible, but it would take her longer wind all the way up again than they had.

She kissed him, cupping the back of his neck and digging her nails in. “Don’t wait,” she whispered in his ear, sucking on his earlobe to make her point.

He growled again, but pounded into her a few more times before stilling and shuddering his release. She could feel the heat of it spread inside her. The door held. She tightened her arms and legs around him and just hung on while they both tried to catch their breath. Then he carried her over to the bed like she weighed nothing.

Settling next to her, he dropped light kisses on her face as they both calmed. She turned a little to kiss his mouth. “I was afraid you’d break the door.”

"Mmm. Maybe next time.”

She nudged him with her leg. “We’re in a hotel. You’d have to pay for that.”

"I'm king, I think I can afford it.”

“And then we’d have been naked in the hallway.”

"Your every dream come true.”

“There is a line between erotic and embarrassing and that is well over it.”

He looked past her and said, “Where do you fall on the drapes being open?”

She rolled over to follow his gaze. It was night, and they’d never gotten the lights on. The windows were likely tinted. But there was another building across the street, a hotel or apartment building. From just the right spot you _might_ be able to see. A well equipped spy certainly could. “That’s not bad," she murmured as he kissed the back of her shoulder.

"I live to please you, as you know," he told her, drawing his hand down her curves.

She was still kind of turned on, so she lifted into his touch. “This is part of your campaign to get me to stay, isn’t it?” It was half a joke, but it was also so very tempting. It was lonely out in the field, and together they were practically magic.

"I use all the weapons at my disposal," he said. He pulled her back against his chest and her eyes fluttered as his hand dipped between her legs. 

When he kissed her shoulder again she felt teeth, and she shuddered. The city lights glittered outside the window. “Ask me at the right moment and I’ll agree to anything.”

"Seems like cheating," he murmured, stroking her in slow circles. "But everything is fair in love and war, isn't it?”

He was so careful and slow. The frantic lust spent, he seemed to have all the time in the world. A taste of what it would be like when they were more than stolen moments. He teased her until until she arched and rocked back against him, and then he cupped her thigh, moving it to make enough space to slide inside her. And then it was still slow, rocking and pushing against each other, more friction than anything else. He spread his hand on her lower belly to hold her too him, drifting it down when she needed it.

It was absolute exquisite torture. “Please,” she begged him. “Please, please.” Right now she really would promise him anything.

"Shh," he whispered in her ear. "I've got you." His fingers thrummed against her clit as he tilted his hips, hitting just the right spot within her. It was the tenderness that got her. The intimacy. All the things far beyond desire that existed between them. He did have her. He always would. She knew that in her bones. And so she melted into him as the orgasm took her, and she felt him come with her. 

She slid her hand over his and laced their fingers together, just for the connection. She could have this for the rest of her days. All she had to do was stay. “I love you,” she told him. Neither of them had said it since she’d been back. Maybe it would have been better if they didn’t. But right then she couldn’t keep the words in.

"I love you," he replied. “Always."

“There has to be something we can figure out,” she whispered. “There has to be.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed her hair. "There is.”

She groaned a little. Her hair. She couldn’t leave it out like this all night. It would be a mess in the morning. Reality was already intruding. “I am loathe to move, but I need to fix my hair before we pass out.”

With a grumble, he lifted his arm to free her, rolling away. She leaned over to kiss him before getting up. She dug around in her suitcase for her toiletries, something he seemed to enjoy watching as she hadn’t put any clothes on. Once she had actually started rolling up her knots, he offered, “Do you want help?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how?”

"I have a demanding, bossy baby sister I adore. I assure you, I can do hair.”

Hoping she wasn’t going to regret this, she picked up her hair lotion and comb and brought it over to the bed. She could do her own without seeing the mirror. “Take a small section and twist it until it rolls in on itself, and tuck the end under. If I end up with a bald spot you’re buying me a better wig than wardrobe has.”

She felt him portioning out a small section of hair. "My only fear is that I will do such a good job you will force me to do this for you all the time.”

“Put that in your weapon arsenal,” she said, surprised at how fast he rolled up the first knot. There might be some truth to his fear. Apparently the powers of the Black Panther applied to doing hair, too.

"Sex and hair care. Truly, I don't know how you resist me.”

Nakia laughed. “I have never been able to resist you. If I said it was 30 hours between meeting and sex, that would be a generous exaggeration.”

"Ah, but I was a prince then. I'm a king now. Everyone knows kings are old and stodgy.”

“Right, right, of course. Let me know if you need me to get your arthritic joint cream.”

He chuckled. "I wouldn't say no to a shoulder rub now and then.”

She patted his leg. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He got her hair completely put up in about a third of the time it usually took her, and eventually she stopped doing any herself as her hands were in his way. It was very domestic, and absolutely not the kind of thing you’d expect a king do be doing, fixing his lover’s hair. But that made it oddly romantic. He’d never over-reached, but he always made it clear he wanted to do what ever he could to take care of her. Love was always in the little moments.

When he was finished, he dropped an affectionate kiss on her neck. "All set to rights. I won't be offended if you check my work in the mirror.”

“I trust your meticulousness.” She turned to kiss him. “Thank you.” She dug her scarf out and wrapped it around her head. “We should sleep.”

"Yes. I imagine tomorrow will be an interesting day.”


	9. Chapter 9

Interesting. Interesting had been the right word to describe T’Challa’s day.

In the middle of Agent Ross’s interrogation, a man wearing a ring belonging to the Wakandan royal family, and carrying a Wakandan weapon, blew through the wall and carried Klaue off. In the firefight, Agent Ross got between Nakia and a bullet, leaving him with a wound that should have killed him. Except that they could easily save him back home.

She didn’t even ask. She just stared him down. And in his bones he knew deliberately leaving a man who’d helped them, who may have saved Nakia’s life, to die just to protect their secrets was as wrong as outright execution for the same ends.

Okoye was pretty pissed at the both of them, though. When they got back to Wakanda, W’kabi was even more pissed they’d lost Klaue. Hopefully the two of them could go home and yell in a agreement at each other for a while about how terrible he was and get it out of their systems.

He had, he expected, way bigger problems.

T’Challa found Zuri in the Garden of the Heart Shaped Herb. He didn’t know if he’d have the answers, but he was old enough to have been around before T’Challa’s uncle, the owner of the ring that man had been wearing, had gone missing.

His gut turned out to be right. But the truth was so much worse than he expected.

Nakia had gone home to see her family that evening, which he couldn’t begrudge her, but if there was ever a night when he wanted someone to talk to, it was now. There wasn’t anyone else he both trusted, and could bring himself to put the burden of the knowledge on.

He gave up trying to sleep around dawn, and went for a hike outside the city. After being pinged by administrative questions from people who had no business bothering him this early, he turned his Kimoyo beads off. He ended up, some hours later, sitting on a cliff edge, lost in his thoughts.

That was where he was when Nakia found him. He had no idea _how_ , but find him she did.

"This has been. . . a very bad day," he told her as she settled next to him. Technically, most of it had happened the day before, but he hadn't slept, so it felt like one, long day.

“Your beads are off, I was worried.”

"I needed some time. To think.”

“About loosing Klaue? One of the hardest things about being out in the wider world is seeing how often bad men get away.”

He shook his head. "More than that. I am sorry he got away, but it is the man who came for him the bothers me most."

“His accomplice? You said he had a weapon that had to be using vibranium. Klaue kept some of his stash?”

"Probably, but that's not what bothered me. He had a ring." He lifted his hand. "One that matched this one. He was my cousin.”

She looked startled. “How do you know that?”

He told her what Zuri has said, about his father and uncle and the way it had ended. The man he had always looked up to, the hero he had hoped to grow up to be. Baba had always seemed wise and kind. A great man and a great king. It would never have occurred to T'Challa that he could do what he had done.

"He killed his own brother. And left a child behind with nothing.” He could feel her looking at him, but kept his eyes on the horizon like it would tell him something. “What kind of King—what king of man does that?”

Nakia leaned forward a little, trying to see his face. “No man is perfect. Not even your father.”

“He didn’t even give him a proper burial.” Which was needed for passage to the afterlife. Without burial, his uncle’s soul would be stranded somewhere neither here nor there. For that reason they generally went to enormous effort to retrieve the body of a War Dog killed while on duty. Baba had been far more religious than T’Challa was, and Zuri was a priest. They’d both left him. It defied belief. “My uncle N’Jobu betrayed us but my father. . . he may have created something even worse.”

“Hey,” Nakia said. When he didn’t reply, with a little more force she said, “Look at me.” He sighed a little and did so. “You can’t let your father’s mistakes define who you are. _You_ get to decide what kind of king you are going to be.”

He looked away, out at the valley. For a moment he had the sense of the whole country perched precariously on the edge of a great divide. And he was the one who had the power to tip it one way or another.

His Kimoyo beads buzzed lightly and he looked down to see his sister's image in his palm. Of course she had some sort of override to him turning it off. "Brother," she said, with as much urgency in her voice as he had ever heard. "You need to get here now.”

“What’s happened?” His first thought was their mother, though Shuri would probably be crying.

“A man showed up at the border with Klaue’s body. He claims to be Wakandan but Mr. CIA over here says he’s an American spy. W’Kabi is bringing him in. Come. Here.”

Nakia was already standing up. “I have shuttle, I didn’t walk here.”

"I'll be right there," he told Shuri, breaking the connection before getting up and following Nakia to her shuttle. “The palace?” That is where W’Kabi would bring him.

She shook her head. “Shuri first. We need intel.”

He nodded and slipped into the passenger seat as she started to take off. "It's him," he said quietly.

“That sounds like the most logical explanation.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps you will have the chance to ameliorate some of your father’s mistakes.”

"That would be a best case scenario.”

The information about this man that Ross provided did not make T’Challa feel like this was going to have a peaceful ending, but one had to hope. 

He could bring Shuri into the throne room with him, but he had to leave Nakia in his office. Something he really didn’t want to do. She was his voice of reason, the horizon he could put his eyes on to keep him steady, and right now he felt about as unsteady as he ever had. 

He sat on the throne that still felt a little big for him, while W'Kabi and the guards marching the outsider into the room. His council was restless and confused and Killmonger's confidence didn't help T'Challa's feeling of unsteadiness. He also couldn't read W'Kabi's expression and wondered if he was staying stone faced for the sake of the situation.

Immediately, T'Challa wished he'd done this in private and stood to get closer to his cousin and talk to him. Briefly he had hope they might have a civil conversation. “What do you want?”

“I want the throne.”

It was a very brief hope. The council laughed at the ridiculousness of it, and Killmonger launched into a speech about all the people of African ancestry around the world who were suffering and somehow that was Wakanda’s fault.

It was not dissimilar to what Nakia had been saying. They could help, and that they didn’t was shameful. Except Nakia wanted to feed people and give them medicine. This guy wanted to Wakanda to start a world war. And while he was starting to see her point of view, what he told Killmonger was also true. He was king of Wakanda. And his first loyalty had to be to them.

He found his footing at least, and almost got away with all of it, until Nakia's father, of all people, gave into Killmonger's request to ask who he was. The revelation caused chaos in the room.

"I found my daddy with panther claws in his chest! You ain't the king, you're the son of a murderer."

And right then, he knew what he had to do.

The rest of them squabbled, and W’Kabi produced his grandfather’s ring, the one he’d seen hanging around Killmonger’s neck in Korea. He handed it to the Queen without a word, and very deliberately without looking at T’Challa. When he finally did look at T’Challa, he understood the stone face. W’Kabi had chosen a side.

If he said no, and the Border Tribe turned on him, there would be Civil War. 

He turned the ring over in his hand. His father had killed his own brother. “I accept your challenge.”

It would still take time to plan the challenge, so W'Kabi took Killmonger away to prepare and T'Challa left to go to his rooms and do the same, leaving his shellshocked mother and sister behind.

He’d thought it would be longer, before one of them got moving enough to go into his office and find Nakia. But apparently it wasn’t much, because she came bursting through the doors not a minute after him. “What in Bast’s name are you doing?”

"Accepting a challenge from one of royal blood.”

“This is ridiculous, Challenge Day is over. You are already King, you don’t have to entertain this.”

"He is of royal blood, he can request a challenge any time.”

“You don’t have to say yes right now. Let the court system sort that out. The last time there was a auxiliary challenge was something like 400 years ago.”

"He found his father's body with claw marks in it. I owe him this much.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You owe him to have you kill him? How is that going to help anything? Sure isn’t going to do anything for your guilt.”

"What would you have me do?" he asked her. "W'Kabi stands beside him. I cannot throw him out. I cannot imprison him.”

That seemed to startle and derail her. “W’Kabi? Really?” He understood reaction. An hour ago he would have said W’Kabi turning on him was about as likely as Nakia herself doing so. They’d been friends nearly all of his life.

Though now he could hear all the times W’Kabi had casually mentioned his desire to take his men and clean up the world.

"I saw it in his face. Whether because he brought him Klaue or because his plans align with W'Kabi's wishes, he has chosen to follow Killmonger over me. And you know the rest of the tribe will go with him.”

“And you think winning this challenge will put an end to that?”

"It will take Killmonger out of the equation. I can find a compromise with the Border tribe." Whatever else, W'Kabi was a reasonable man. Killmonger was not.

“If you delayed the challenge, you might be able to find the compromise _first_.”

"And meanwhile I have a long lost cousin sitting in a jail cell, having committed no crime on Wakandan soil, sowing discord.”

She flung her arms out. “So instead you take your father’s sins and make them _yours_.”

"I am the king," he said said firmly. "I must do what I have to to protect Wakanda and her people.”

“And this is the kind of King you’ve chosen?”

"Today I don't believe I have a choice.”

She stared at him a long moment, then whispered, “And what if you lose?”

He sighed. "I don't know.”

She sighed in return. “I suppose you don’t have to. You won’t be here to deal with the mess.”

"Nakia," he said softly.

She waved a hand. “You’re not going to lose. I’ve fought American operatives before. They don’t train them well enough. They rely too heavily on guns, and maybe small knives for close combat. He can’t beat you.”

That was good to know. "I appreciate your faith in me.”

“I’m still angry and I still think you’re making this worse. We’re going to need to have a conversation about this later.”

He inclined his head. "I look forward to it.”

She gave a nod, and then she left. He suspected she was right about how he would feel when it was over. But for the moment he was going to focus on hoping she was also right about how his opponent fought.

As it turned out, she wasn’t.

*

“Now. I’m you’re King.”

When Nakia was in Dora training, and again when she was learning to be a spy, she’d heard one thing, over and over. In moments of panic, of great fear, of intense grief, of anything so emotionally difficult it felt like a physical blow, your higher brain power stopped working.

Supposedly it was instinct, built into the human body a million years ago when the biggest threat was another apex predator and what you felt meant you needed to run, or to fight, but not to think. All available blood needed to go to your muscles.

They trained them, then, to be able to rely on muscle memory. Your mind flipped through the options it already knew, like a deck of flashcards, until it found one that was useful. No card for the particular scenario you were in, and you were very likely to die where you stood, frozen and useless. Nakia had been trained to have many, many cards.

There was a moment where a different instinct almost got to her. Vestiges of the person she used to be. She’d just watched the man she loved killed. It seemed totally normal to scream, to sob, to fall to her knees. Let her grief cripple her. Let the miserable, lonely abyss that suddenly yawned in front of her swallow her whole.

But this man, this usurper, was an apex predator. And her deck full of cards that said _fight_.

She was a spy. She had one for _coup de tat_. Killmonger might be working from the exact same card.

His very next target would be anyone who could challenge his authority. Royal blood. Remaining heirs. Shuri.

She and the Queen Mother had, understandably, fallen right into the sobbing and screaming. She needed to get them out of here. She begged, herded, and dragged them up the rock and into the cave. They kept stopping to cry and she kept pushing, with a determination they probably found cold. 

They could hate her later, she thought as she got them onto a boat. At least they’d be alive to do so. The boats were biometrical operated, but her father’s boat would start for her retina, so that’s the one she took. How he’d get home wasn’t her problem. She didn’t have a card for that.

The boat ride gave her time to think—no, not think, but to assess the situation. Thinking might lead to feeling and that way lay madness. She needed to put them somewhere safe. If he could find them, they’d be a target. Killmonger—which she was going to call him exclusively, since it was the most fitting of his myriad of names—would work to consolidate his power. 

There would be controversy. Winning the challenge was one thing, throwing your opponent off the falls was another entirely. It was blasphemy. Killmonger had also paused the challenge to murder Wakanda’s Head Priest. 

Her tribe would be the easiest to peel off. Because Zuri had been River Tribe, and because her father was likely to listen to her. Her people were not warriors, though. No one was but the Border Tribe. 

And the Dora Milaje. 

“I need you to stay here,” she told Shuri and the Queen Mother when found them a place to hide in the jungle. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m going to find supplies, and Okoye.”

"Do you have a plan?" the Queen Mother asked. She sounded calm, calmer than she had any right to be. Nakia wondered if she had her own deck of cards, somewhere deep inside.

“Ah, at the moment. . . the Dora and then the Mining Tribe,” she said, not admitting she was thinking out loud. “They control the vibranium and you’d be surprised how well bureaucratic recalcitrance can slow things down. What we need most right now is time.” She’d brought her rings knives with her, and she held one out to the Queen Mother. She looked her in the eye and said, “You kill anyone who comes within reach. You understand me?”

She nodded sharply and put her free arm around Shuri. "Bast guide your steps.”

It took her longer than she wanted to get to the palace, but she needed to be careful. It was easier to get in when it was dark. She’d turned off everyone’s beads, and might need to remove them if Shuri’s override was found by others, but for the moment she turned them on so she could send a message to Okoye and ask her where she was. 

The reply was immediate, and followed up with, _I’ve been waiting for you._

When Nakia got upstairs they just about flung themselves at each other. Okoye had never been too much of a hugger, but this was one of those times. Okoye was also clearly crying, and it took all Nakia had not to give in to her own tears. If she cried, she would break. So for a moment she just held on to the closest thing she had to a sister.

Nakia promised her the remains of the royal family was safe, and then pulled her hand. “We should get to them.”

“I cannot go. Though my heart is with you.”

Nakia yanked her hand back, and stared at Okoye in some mix of horror and anger. “We cannot turn our nation over to a man who showed up only hours ago!”

"He is of royal blood," Okoye replied, sounding so much like T'Challa had a few hours ago it made her snap a bit.

"He killed T'Challa." Saying it out loud was necessary but painful. And despite her quick response she could see it effected Okoye.

"I am not a spy who can come a go as they so choose. I am loyal to _the throne_. No matter who sits on it. What are you loyal to?”

She felt the accusation like a slap. And part of her wanted to throw it back at her. Was it really all just because of her oath to the throne? None of it was about being Border Tribe? Or about the side her _husband_ had chosen? The idea that Okoye was completely clearheaded and professional was as much bullshit as her trying to insist Nakia be. But Nakia couldn’t be anything but honest right now, even if it took her a minute to get it out in a somewhat steady voice. “I loved him. I love my country, too.”

Okoye was all military now. She wasn’t talking to her best friend anymore. She was talking to The General. “Then you serve your country.”

She was alone. She couldn’t do this alone. Except right now she had to. Grief bubbled up and she shoved it down. Anger was the only thing she’d allow herself at this moment. “No. I _save_ my country.”

With that she turned and walked out, wondering if the next time she saw Okoye they’d have weapons pointed at each other. It felt like her already broken heart was breaking all over again.

Anger was not doing a good job of suppression right now. After a moment, she decided letting it out a little would keep her from breaking later, at the worst possible moment. Like a steam valve. So she went into T’Challa’s bedroom, sat on his side of the bed, and set her beads to chime at her in exactly five minutes. Then she laid down, turned her face into the pillow that still smelled like him, and gave herself five minutes to cry.

While she was doing her crying, she let herself indulge in whatever awful thoughts her brain could cook up. She wondered if their lives had gone a different way, if she hadn’t been a spy, if she would have children she’d have to hide from this madman. But they would be a part of their father she’d still have. She wondered if it would have hurt less if he’d died fighting M’Baku. That would have at least been handled with honor. There would have been a burial. There was no reason to think the Jabari were violent or sadistic. She would not have had to hide T’Challa’s mother and sister in the jungle. She didn’t know M’Baku, but her fairly reliable gut told her he was an honorable man. Who just had a bit too much ambition.

She sat up. He had ambition. And an a tribe. And an _army_.

Nakia sniffled and wiped her eyes. She needed sweaters, blankets, better shoes, and some of the Heart Shaped Herb.

Around then she remembered Agent Ross, who’d been stashed in T’Challa’s office since before the challenge. No one knew he was there, but Killmonger would certainly kill him if he found him. She’d have to take him with her. Because that wouldn’t be at _all_ conspicuous.

She tried not to sound too irritated when she matter-of-factly informed him that the king was dead and he should follow her if he didn’t want to join him.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a very long walk out of the jungle and up the mountain to Gorilla City. Especially dragging an old woman, a teenager, and a very confused man recovering from a spinal injury. But it was amazing what one could do when there was no other option. At the very least Nakia hoped M'Baku was honorable enough to hide Shuri and her mother. If he refused to fight. . . well, she'd come up with Plan C when she got to it. Maybe Ross could call in an air strike or something.

Her best hope was the the Heart Shaped Herb would be too big a temptation for him to resist. 

They took turns activating their beads to get geographical bearings, as it wasn’t the time to get lost. One of the times she turned on hers, she got a message from her mother. _Are you all right? We’re worried._

She got Shuri to confirm no one had accessed her beads’ tracking system before replying. _I’m okay. In hiding. Contact you when safe._

Nakia was just about to turn them off again when she got another message. _Understand. Your father has the tribe scouring the river, so we can give the King a proper burial._ It hit her like a punch in the gut, and she actually had to stop walking because her eyes swam.

Ross was walking beside her and stopped as well, reaching out to touch her arm silently. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her sweater, and then turned to look back at the Queen Mother and Shuri, who were a little behind them. She waited for them to reach her, and held out her hand for them to read the projected text. It would likely make them cry, too, but might make them feel a little better. 

Shuri lowered her head, but the Queen Mother nodded regally. "Your family was always honorable.”

“I believe my tribe will stand with us. But that doesn’t help much, they’re not exactly fighters.”

That made the Queen Mother smile a little. “I knew your mother in her prime. She could spar with my husband and win.”

Nakia smiled back. “I’ll make sure we find her a spear.”

"We will make it through," the Queen Mother told her. "The ancestors are with us.”

They walked all night, and all day. When they reached the edge of Jabari Land, there was a giant gorilla head carved in the face of the mountain above the trail. The Queen Mother had second thoughts, and urged Nakia to take the herb herself. But she was nothing if not honest with herself. And she was a spy with no army.

The Jabari found them right about then.

M'Baku was a hard man to read, though he certainly seemed to enjoy a show. The Queen Mother tried sympathy, Shuri tried anger. Ross tried to be reasonable and was immediately shut down. Nakia, as always, went to the heart of the matter, kneeling and offering him the herb.

He didn’t have to like them, he didn’t have to respect them, he didn’t have to do it for the good of the nation. She just needed him to seize the opportunity she presented him. 

The Queen Mother clearly understood, and kneeled beside her—something that was probably far harder for her to do than it had been for Nakia. Shuri and Ross quickly followed.

It worried her how long M’Baku seemed to be considering it. She could see on his face he was conflicted and she couldn’t fathom why. Then he stood and said, “Come with me.”

Jumping to their feet so as not to get trampled, their little band of refugees followed him out of the throne room, through a maze of hallways and out into the snow again. The path was steep and treacherous, ending in a rather ominous looking hut lit by torches.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The cave was heavily guarded, and for a moment she wondered if she had misjudged M’Baku badly and they were about to be locked up or worse. If that were the case, she’d eat the damn herb before she let him take it.

Then they stepped into the room to find a man laying in the snow on the floor of the hut. Nakia had barely registered the sight when the Queen Mother gasped and she recognized T'Challa.

"Impossible," she gasped out, even as she and the other women fell to their knees at his sides.

"He's in a coma," M'Baku said. "Barely clinging to life. One of our fishermen found him at the edge of the river border. He brought him to me."

Shuri's immediate reaction - as always - was to get him to her lab, but even Nakia could see he would never make it.

The Queen Mother held out her hand. "Nakia. The herb.”

Later she’d think about how Killmonger had burned the garden, that this was all that was left and if it didn’t work the whole country would be lost—and anyway T’Challa didn’t have an army. She should have considered that. But maybe Okoye was right about where her loyalties lay. Because she didn’t hesitate one single second in handing it over.

The wait after they had poured the tincture into his mouth and covered him in the icy snow seemed endless. But then, with no warning, T'Challa gasped and jerked upright. Nakia moved to help him and he lifted a hand, wrapping it up and stroking her hair, even as he caught his breath. She leaned into him. If there weren’t two other women also trying to hug him, she might have crawled into his lap. 

He looked around at all of them and seemed to chuckled a little. "Do you have a blanket?” Shuri made a squeal of pure joy and moved to pull of the one she had to give it to him. For a moment he looked like a might argue, but Nakia and the Queen Mother wrapped it around him before he could do so. He took a deep breath and asked, “Where are we and what happened?”

“We’re in Jabari Land,” Nakia said. “They found you in the river.”

He nodded slowly. "How long was I gone?”

“The challenge was yesterday evening, and it’s night again now.” 

“We walked all night and all day,” Shuri said.

From the other end of the cave, M’Baku called out, “Are you serious?” He came over to them. “I’ve long suspected lowlanders were demented but I’ve never seen actual proof. How long have you been awake?”

“Since yesterday morning,” Nakia said, before Shuri replied with sass.

M’Baku made a noise. “What have you eaten? Anything?”

“Nuts and dried fruit,” she replied, not really sure if the level of exasperated scolding in his voice was deserved. There had also been some jerky but she wasn’t going mention meat to this man. 

“Hanuman save me. And you all, apparently. Come, come, we’ll find you somewhere to sleep and something to eat.” He marched out of the cave without looking back.

"I'm still not entirely sure he's not going to eat me," Ross muttered, but he shrugged and helped them get T'Challa to his feet so they could follow M’Baku.

They back down the treacherous path, and then back into the palace, which was dug into the mountain. Another man came to meet them, and M’Baku said, “Find them a couple of guest rooms, send up some hot food, and post a guard in the hall.” He looked at T’Challa. “Come talk to me in the morning.”

He nodded slowly. "I thank you for your hospitality, M’Baku."

M’Baku grunted in reply and strode down the hall.

*

Getting to the room and waiting for the meal passed in a blur. The food woke T'Challa up more than anything and he ate two plates worth before he was capable of speaking. The others tried to catch him up on what Killmonger was doing, but his mother shushed them. "Let him rest," she scolded. "We can deal with it in the morning. There's nothing to be done now.”

“Everyone should sleep,” Nakia said.

“Someone should keep an eye on him,” Shuri said.

“I will,” she replied. “I’m staying here.”

Mother nodded and kissed his forehead, then Nakia's. "Call your mother," she told her. "Let her know you are safe.”

“Thank you,” she said, then added. “I will. They can call the boats in, too.”

"Yes." She patted her cheek, then ushered Shuri to their room. Ross had left them earlier, saying they needed family time.

Now alone, he turned to Nakia. "You were right.”

She looked startled. “No, I was very wrong. Clearly he could beat you—he nearly killed you.”

"I meant fighting him was a poor choice. I let my guilt make the decision.”

“We are human,” she replied. Then her face crumpled and she covered it with her hands.

"Ah," he said softly, reaching out to gather her close to his chest. 

She pressed her face into his neck and just cried for a minute. Finally she managed to say, “I thought that was the last conversation we’d ever have.”

He rocked her gently. "I'd have come visited you from the afterlife. So you could say you told me so.”

“I’d rather have you here,” she whispered. “I’d rather be wrong than lose you.”

"I'm here," he told her. "Partially thanks to you.”

She sniffled and straightened, wiping her nose. “I have to contact my mother. She worries, and my father has the fishermen combing the river looking for your body.” She had to stop and breathe for a moment. “Bast, I have held it together for two days and now I can’t stop crying.”

"I imagine that's the relief. If it helps, I'm still not entirely sure this isn't some sort of dream.”

“Maybe I’m hallucinating. I have been awake a good 40 hours.” 

He kissed her gently. "Come. Let's get some sleep.”

She sent a message to her mother, and then they went to the bed, which was piled with thick blankets. It was quite cozy under there. He watched her undress, realizing that under her sweater she was wearing the same dress she’d had on when he last saw her. She crawled into bed with him and he wrapped her tightly in his arms. "I love you," he whispered.

“I love you,” she replied back. “Thank you for coming back to me.” He’d heard her, he realized. In the space between the ancestral plane and the living world, there had been her voice asking him to wake up. His mother and Shuri had called to the ancestors, to Bast. She had called to him.

"I will always come to you," he told her. "If I am able.”

She nodded, and turned her head to press her ear to his chest. Like she was listening to his heartbeat. Then she relaxed, and he could feel her drifting off. He held her a long time, staring at the ceiling in the dim light trying to formulate a plan, before sleep finally took him. 

When he woke in the morning, it was chilly enough in the room that his nose was cold, but it was very cozy under the blankets, which he had up to his chin. He could tell Nakia was awake, but she seemed content to just lay there. He turned his head to bury his nose in her neck which made her squeak. "Morning," he rumbled.

“Yesterday. Days. Did that really happen?”

"Yes, but hopefully we can start putting them firmly in the past.”

“We still have to get the country back from a lunatic.” She sighed. “Actually, I don’t think he’s a lunatic. I can’t speak for the situation in the US, but I have seen the seeds that grow the men who join groups like Boko Haram. Their rage and hate is pretty twisted by that point, but the roots are real.”

T'Challa rubbed her back, enjoying the feel of her skin. "Yes. I believe his anger and. . . goal are not madness. But his methods cannot be allowed.”

“I agree. We should find some food and try and figure out how to stop him.”

Before he could reply, someone began knocking on the door. Apparently M’Baku wanted to see them. Maybe there would be food after that.

They were all taken to the throne room, something that seemed unnecessary to T’Challa and was probably a power move. But he owed M’Baku, so he didn’t complain.

“Just for my own edification,” M’Baku said. “Explain to me what exactly happened.”

By the time Nakia had gotten halfway through the tale, he’d wandered back to his throne, but T’Challa needed to hear the details of what went on after the fall anyway. “Okoye told me it was her duty to protect the throne, no matter its occupant. So he has the full support of our military.” She paused, glancing away a moment. “And. . . he burned the Garden of the Heart Shaped Herb.”

“Of course he did,” Ross said. “His unit used to work with the CIA to destabilize foreign countries.”

Of course they had. Of course the US had a specific military unit whose sole purpose was to destabilize foreign governments. Which Ross talked about like it was a normal thing, like having pilots or bomb techs. Across the throne room he could see his mother shake her head and make a face of disgust.

Ross was detailing how this was done, the goal being to get control of everything the country had. “Our resources,” T’Challa said, understanding just how bad this was. He looked over at Shuri. “The Great Mountain.”

“Our vibranium,” she replied. “All of my designs.”

“They will send our weapons all over the world.” It was what his uncle had wanted to do. Killmonger was just following the plan. He had to stop him, though he couldn’t fathom how.

He tried to convince Nakia to take Shuri and Mother out of the country, somewhere safe, which exactly no one agreed with. “If he gets control of our technology, nowhere will be safe,” Shuri said. And then from somewhere in her pockets, she pulled the necklace that contained his Black Panther suit.

She stepped forward, putting it over his head and settling it on his chest. "The Black Panther lives," she said, looking older and wiser than her years. "And when he fights for the fate of Wakanda, I will be right there. Beside him."

She was his baby sister. But she was also a princess of Wakanda and a warrior in her heart. So he swallowed his worry and protectiveness and nodded.

Nakia put her hand on his arm. “As will I.”

"I'm in too," Ross piped up before he could thank Nakia. They all looked at him and he lifted a shoulder. "What? You're gonna need all the help you can get."

When T'Challa had brought the agent here, he had still not entirely known what to think of the man. But he clearly had honor, despite his organization's questionable methods. He felt the beginning of a smile crease his face.

Which was interrupted by M'Baku's over-the-top fake yawn.

M’Baki agreed to keep his mother safe, but he would not help. If T’Challa lost his coming battle, Killmonger would send the army right up this mountain. He wouldn’t allow the Jabari to just sit up there and exist. And he could see M’Baku knew that. But he had a long and entrenched grudge against the royal family, and clearly that was stronger than sense.

It was fine. He was waging a war with a spy, an inventor, and an American CIA agent. And he'd almost died yesterday. This was fine.

Outside in the hallway where the rest of them were waiting, Nakia was talking on her Komoyo beads to someone he didn’t recognize. “So someone _is_ making a full list? Because that would be helpful.”

“Yeah, it’s just slow going, we’re not used to talking to each other this much,” the man replied.

“I know. But I’d assume the handlers are compromised until we hear different. Get me that list, even partial.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His face disappeared.

She turned to Ross. “Hey. How racist is your president?”

His brows went up. "I don't know him personally but he's never shown any signs of it.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.” She turned to T’Challa. “Apparently Killmonger’s brilliant plan is to arm the War Dogs and start revolutions. He wants to burn the entire world and start over, only with us as the conquerers.”

That was certainly in the worst case scenario column. "Surely some of the War Dogs are refusing?”

“Sounds like most of them recognize the catastrophic consequences even if they agree with the sentiment. We’re working on a full list of who turned and who didn’t, but it’s taking time. Spies are cagey.”

"Yes, I've heard that. Why are you concerned with the racism level of the American President?"

“We have a War Dog who works on the janitorial staff at the White House. She’d be our best vector to get a message to his government, and she’s loyal. We know at least one of the other US embeds has turned.”

That was discouraging. He looked over at Ross. "Do you think he'd take information from a woman on the janitorial staff?"

He considered a moment, then looked at Shuri. "I can give you a code word to give her. He'll take her seriously no matter who she is.”

Nakia pointed at Shuri. “Put that on the list.” Shuri did seem to be keeping some sort of list. He’d been talking to M’Baku for five minutes and in that time they had a list.

"May I ask what else is on the list?”

“Killmonger’s announcement of his plan to the council scared the teeth out of half the elders,” Shuri said. 

“I heard from my father,” Nakia said. “He’s talking to Nella to see if the miners can slow him down. Mysterious problems with the power grid in the mountain. That sort of thing. The River and the Mining tribe are with us. The Merchants are trying to decide if war will be good or bad for their profit margins.”

“Also he’s sending us a boat,” Shuri said. “So we don’t have to walk.” 

"Good." Maybe they weren't entirely alone in this. "We need to have some sort of plan.”

“I need to get to my lab,” Shuri said immediately.

“We need to hike down to the river to meet the boat,” Nakia said. “We’ll plan on the way.”

He turned to his mother. "M'Baku has promised to keep you safe here. I must insist you stay.”

“I can’t just sit up here. . .”

"Please, Mother." He searched his mind for some task to give her. "Perhaps you can contact some of the Merchants and try to win allegiances.”

She hesitated a moment and nodded. “All right.”

"Thank you." He kissed her forehead and turned to the others. "Let's go.”

They were starting their way down the mountain when Ross mused, “I can’t believe you have a Wakandan spy working in the White House.”

“Says the man who’s government has a military unit devoted specifically to overthrowing other governments,” Shuri replied.

“They work to stop dangerous governments without having to start a war and rack up a lot of casualties.”

“Or to keep oil prices down. Or protect the profits of a company that sells bananas.”

Ross opened and closed his mouth, then said, “Point taken.”

"A week ago, the man thought we were goat herders and basket weavers," T'Challa said. "It takes some adjusting.”

“I did know about the bulletproof cat suit,” he said. “And the intelligence community, at least, is aware of the ferocity with which you’ve defended your borders. Though public memory is too short to have much awareness beyond farmers and these fancy blankets.”

"We export a lot of blankets," Shuri agreed. "They were trendy at Coachella a year or two ago.”

T’Challa looked over to see Nakia scrolling through text that had popped up from her beads. She noticed the regard and said, “We have about 250 War Dogs in the field, and the best I can tell we’ve only lost three.”

He couldn't help but smile. "That's a pretty good percentage.”

“Yes. But the three are in New York, London, and Hong Kong.” She rubbed her brow. “He’s starting his war on oppressors in three nations with nuclear weapons. I hope it occurs to W’Kabi to put the shield up.”

“I bet that will be great for our neighbors when ICBMs start bouncing off of it,” Shuri said.

“In his quest for glory and vengeance he will end up killing a whole lot of some of the most oppressed, colonized, and victimized people in the world,” Nakia said.

Or he would leave the shield down. Set the world on fire and then make all of Wakanda pay for the sins of its rulers.


	11. Chapter 11

The headwaters of the river were in Jabari land, though the vast majority of the river itself was the province of Nakia’s tribe. A boat was waiting at the border, facing a bunch of Jabari pointing spears at it.

They reached it and climbed in. The driver was one of Nakia’s cousins, and she hugged him in greeting. She talked to the man for a moment, then came to the back of the boat where the rest of them were as they got underway.

"We still don't have a plan," Ross pointed out.

"Shuri, Nakia, do you have any way of knowing where Killmonger is at the moment?"

“He’s not wearing Komoyo beads, that I know of.” Shuri replied.

“Can’t you track the tattoo?” Nakia asked. The War Dog tattoos had vibranium in them and were how they could be found if lost/captured/killed.

“Not with the equipment I have.”

Nakia pressed her beads. “Let me try the old fashioned way.”

T'Challa sat down on one of the bench seats as the boat picked up enough speed to make standing awkward. "I'm almost afraid to ask.”

“Via the very shady method of asking people questions.” 

"That's very straight forward of you.”

A moment later, her father popped up on her display, who told them Killmonger had plans to launch his ‘initiative’ that afternoon, from the Great Mountain. “The Elders were invited, but most of us chose not to go. Nella and I both claimed the elevation was bad for our lungs. It’s probably true in her case, she’s old as dirt.”

"She'd take that as a compliment," Shuri called.

“If you need anything else, let me know. Be safe, Nana. You know how your mother worries.”

“I will, Baba.” The hologram disappeared, and Nakia turned to look at T’Challa. “We need to stop his launch.”

Shuri added, "I need to get to my lab."

T'Challa nodded. "I will confront Killmonger at the top of the Mountain. You three use the distraction to get to Shuri's lab and do what you can to stop the launch.”

“If we can get one of the mining jets we’d be able to fly right in,” Nakia said.

"When we get closer I should be able to get one to come to us," Shuri told them.

“We might be able to get one of the miners to fly one out,” Nakia said. “Get us in the air sooner. I feel conspicuous in this boat.” 

"I hate to involve anyone else. But that probably would be safer, if they can get out without being noticed.”

“It would be less suspicious that way, going out with a pilot.”

“After we’re off, you should crash it,” Shuri said. “Make a big boom and charge your suit at the same time.”

He grinned at the way she said "big boom." "That would certainly get his attention.”

*

A pilot from the Mining Tribe brought them a plane, which made it reasonably easy to get into the mountain. Nakia found the hardest part using the hood of T’Challa’s robe to fashion a mask for Ross to wear to make him less noticeable. Sewing was not one of Nakia’s skills. 

Everyone but T’Challa disembarked on the platform, and before she followed Nakia went up to the cockpit. “Be careful. And rip him to shreds.”

"You have my word," he told her, leaning back to kiss her. "Be safe.”

“I love you,” she told him, because last time she hadn’t.

“Come on!” Shuri called.

"Go," he urged her and she ran out to meet the others.

"He'll be fine," Shuri assured her as he pulled away.

There were a couple of Border Tribe guys blocking the entrance to the lab, so they waited for T’Challa to make a big enough distraction outside to get them to move. They did, but not before several planes worth of weapons took off.

“One of us is going to have to chase them down,” Nakia said.

“We can have Ross do it remote from here,” Shuri replied. “He’ll just get himself killed up there anyway.” She was the only one who had a comms link to T’Challa’s suit at the moment, and so was listening to the fighting upstairs. The Border Tribe had take Killmonger’s side. The Dora Milaje had taken T’Challa’s. Nakia hoped she and Okoye both lived so she could apologize for doubting her motives.

Shuri stopped and sighed heavily. “W’Kabi called the fucking rhinos.”

Whatever pieces of that man were left when Okoye was done with him, Nakia was going to beat with a very large and very sharp stick.

Once in the lab, Shuri took charge, getting them hooked into the comms and setting Ross up to fly the royal plane remotely. "It's just like riding a hoverbike."

"Wh- you guys have hover bikes?"

Nakia was happy to see ring blades on the weapons table and snatched them up, leaving the energy gauntlets for Shuri.

She was about to leave when Shuri pointed at the Dora uniform also on the table. "There, Nakia, take that.”

She stared at it, and all she could see was the costume her mother had put her in as a little girl. “I’m not a Dora.”

The look she got in return was incredulous. "Just put it on! It's armor!”

Nakia sighed, and picked it up, while Shuri yelled at her to come on. Shuri called encouragement at poor, confused Ross—Nakia wasn’t sure how well that mess was going to go, but they had little choice. The man was a pilot.

In a room off the main lab, Shuri had ceremonial armor, which she put on while Nakia dressed herself as a Dora. Shuri’s braids hung down on her shoulders, and Nakia said, “You have to put your hair up.”

“It’s off my face,” Shuri replied. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Put it up. You don’t want to give your enemy a handhold to your head. That’s why the Dora shave.”

She frowned, but tweaked something on her beads. A moment later a little hovering orb with a half dozen arms ending in pincers flew towards them and started to put Shuri's hair up.

Nakia laughed while she watched it. “I could never figure out how you of all people had the patience to sit for all those tiny braids.”

“I don’t sit, it follows me.” She demonstrated by walking over to the the counter in the attached bathroom and digging in the drawer under the sink.

“You could sell those and make a fortune,” Nakia replied, watching Shuri take out a white pencil and make markings on her face. She’d have commented, but Shuri was 16 and going into battle. If war paint made her feel better, she could have it.

"After this, maybe I will.”

On the way out the door, one of the larger twists of braids fell out the bun the bot had put them in, but Nakia decided not to comment as Shuri already had her weapons on—gauntlets that looked like panthers. The girl had style. And far steadier nerves than Nakia had had at anywhere near her age.

Out on the platform, Shuri attached one of her remotes to the Royal Talon and called for Ross. Nakia was grateful how quickly it got up into the air.

Killmonger had used his suit’s energy charge to fling the Dora he’d been fighting off into the crowd. She could see the body of one of them laying behind him, but she couldn’t bare to look long enough to see who it was. She had a usurper to fight.

She ran at him, tossing one of the rings to get his attention while she slid under him. Shuri gave him several good hits with her gauntlets, keeping him off balance, all the while yelling out instructions to Ross. Nakia attacked from behind, using the distraction to get her own blows in, knocking a weapon out of his hand.

Then he slashed her thigh with his claws, and picked her up and flung her off the platform. The Dora armor was likely what saved her from serious injury from the fall, but it knocked the wind out of her. She needed to get up—Shuri was up there alone with him now—but she honestly couldn’t move.

Dimly, she heard the sounds of Shuri and Killmonger fighting. Then a black blur as T'Challa raced up the hill and Shuri yelling, "Brother!"

A couple moments later she appeared at the top of the hill and slid down next to her. "Nakia! Are you all right?”

Her leg was reasonably agonizing, and would probably feel worse when the shock wore off. Best to keep the adrenaline flowing. “I’m all right. You?” Shuri nodded. “Let’s go.”

They got up and rejoined the fight. Fighting Killmonger had felt righteous, but fighting the Border Tribe was surreal. These were Wakandans, her own people—and some of them were friends. She knew for a fact that many of the Border Tribe Dora would be fighting their own family. She’d seen Ayo’s brother go by on a rhino.

Nakia found Okoye, and they made eye contact. They’d been friends so long an entire conversation could happen silently, and instantly. There would be plenty of time for crying when this was over. At the moment, they had each other’s backs.

The warriors penned them in with their shields, forming a circle and pressing inward. They were trapped. W’Kabi sat on his rhino and dispassionately ordered them to surrender—like he was talking to enemies on the battlefield and not his own damn wife.

There wasn’t going to be enough left of him for Nakia to beat with her stick. Assuming they didn’t all die right now.

The man actually started counting down for them to drop their weapons but was interrupted by. . . grunting.

She would say this for the Jabari, they knew how to make an entrance.

And there was something very satisfying about having her instincts about M’Baku’s nature validated, particularly considering how much she’d risked on them. When this was over, she was going to laugh at all the stupid vegetarian jokes he wanted to make.

The Jabari broke the blockade the Border Tribe had made, and the fight got angrier and messier. Despite the violence, many of the Dora and the Border Tribe did seem to be trying to beat each other without killing each other. Now people would be out for blood.

For a brief, intense bit the battle raged full swing. At one point, she got the man she was fighting on the ground, and she stepped on his chest hoping he’d stay down so she wouldn’t have to kill him. She glanced up, and she saw Okoye holding her spear on W’Kabi. Nakia held her breath for a moment, others on the battlefield slowing to watch as well. W’Kabi threw down his weapon, and knelt.

Just like that, the rest of the Border Tribe did the same.

And that, was more or less that. Shuri told her the Ross had taken down the last of the weapon shipments and got to work deploying her first aid 'bots. The Dora who were unharmed started rounding up the Border Tribe and holding them in a barrier, to be dealt with later.

T'Challa's comm had fritzed out at some point, so no one really had any idea what had happened between him and Killmonger, other than the fact the neither of them had reappeared yet.

Shuri appeared with a bot to look at Nakia’s leg, distracting her from what they were probably both thinking about but didn’t want to discuss. “I’ve done worse to myself in places where all I had to treat it with was vodka and duct tape,” Nakia commented, nonetheless grateful when the bot stabbed her with anesthetic.

"Well, I don't have vodka or duct tape so you'll have to make do with tiny robots,” Shuri replied.

Nakia looked up at her for a moment, trying to read her face. “You okay?” she asked finally. “When I was your age I think I would have been screaming and hiding behind a rock.”

"I'm all right," she said immediately, though it was probably a lie. "I might not be in a couple of hours," she conceded. "But for now I have work to do.”

"Shuri!"

Nakia knew that voice. Even before they turned to look and Shuri went running to hug him, she knew it was T'Challa and relief poured through her. Nakia was trapped where she was because of the thing attached to her leg, but she watched until he finally looked at her, and then she smiled and waved. The knot that had been in her stomach for days finally began to dissolve.

He spoke to Shuri a moment longer, then she ran off and he made his way to where Nakia was sitting. "You're hurt," he said, crouching beside her.

“The bot is almost done.” She reached up to touch his face. “You all right?”

"I'm unhurt," he said. "But all right may take some time.”

“Yeah,” she replied, understanding completely. She reached up her arms to wrap them around his neck. They were in public, but she didn’t care.

He slipped an arm around her and held her close, resting his head against hers. "He's dead," he said quietly. She nodded. That was, really, the best outcome at this point, though she knew it would bother T’Challa nonetheless.

"He asked to be buried in the ocean," he continued. "I promised to see it done.”

“For a proper burial, the ritual matters more than the location,” she said. “Perhaps when this is over you could see if you could locate where your uncle was buried and give him a proper one.”

"It was his last request. But there is time to think about it." He looked around the field, gaze lingering on the captured Border Tribe. "There is a lot to do.”

The bot finally finished her leg and flew away, so T’Challa helped her to her feet. She looked around at the remnants of the battle and found Okoye, who was herding W’Kabi into the shield-pen with the rest of the warriors. Then she returned to the rhino—which Nakia knew she’d bottle fed as a baby—back ramrod straight. She was still the General, but even from this far away Nakia could see the cracks.

She couldn’t fathom what she’d do if she had to point a weapon at T’Challa and mean to use it. She squeezed his arm and said, “M’Baku is trying to get your attention. I’m going to go check on Okoye.”

He followed her gaze and nodded. "Of course. I'll speak with you later.”

Nakia hiked across the field. Okoye looked up when she got close, and Nakia said, “Thank you.”

Her brows lifted. "Why are you thanking me?”

“For being the greatest warrior Wakanda has.”

Her mouth quirked and she stroked the rhino's muzzle. “Perhaps."

“What do you say we take the rhinos home, and then come back to the city and you can get just really, really drunk. I’ll even let you beat up the assholes in the bar if you want to.”

Okoye tilted her head. "That is very appealing. I should see to my girls, though. This was a bad day for many of us.”

Nakia nodded. “I’ll pick up the tab for anyone who wants to drown today.”

"I'll spread the word.”

“I know we’re in public and you’re on duty and you can kick me later if you want to. . .” Nakia reached out and hugged her. Okoye let out a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around her, leaning into the embrace. Nakia didn’t say anything, sensing kindness would make her cry, and the one crack would bring down the dam. For the moment, the hug was enough.

After a few moments Okoye nodded and straightened. "Come. Let's get the babies home.”


	12. Chapter 12

T’Challa could not lock up the entire Border Tribe. Even if it were logistically possible, they were needed for defense. And Wakandan military structure—and culture in general—was hierarchical and intensely focused on loyalty and tradition. A warrior did not question their commanders orders, no matter what they thought of them personally.

In hindsight, perhaps that was something they should work on.

For the meantime, the best he could do was to ask them for loyalty, and then send them home.

That left W'Kabi, sitting sullenly behind the barriers, guarded by Dora. T'Challa stood on the other side, studying his oldest friend. "There will need to be a trial," he said finally.

“Seems a pointless exercise,” he replied. “Given the circumstances.”

"I don't see that my summarily handing down judgement would go over any better. Given the circumstances.”

“Doesn’t make much of a difference to me how it goes over, does it?”

T'Challa didn't know that he currently had the patience for this self-pity, or whatever it was. "You prefer I just stab you now?”

“I have heard the going punishment for treason is a chest full of claws.”

"I am not my father," he reminded him. "And I am tired of being blamed for his mistakes.”

W’Kabi blew out a breath. “No. You’re not.” He looked back at T’Challa. “But we all carry the sins of our ancestors. For centuries mine have met the worst of the world at the borders. The slavers. The Belgians. The British. We had them so outclassed we could have pushed them all the way to the sea, but we never stepped a foot outside of Wakanda. I didn’t want to go back to being a nation of cowards.” 

"I know," he said quietly. "Neither do I. The world is smaller than it ever has been and we've hidden too long. But starting a war is not the opposite of cowardice. And you know that.”

“It was an improvement on ‘nothing’.”

"I'm not entirely sure it was, really. But I suppose that's not the point." He was quiet a moment, then glanced at the guards. "Put him in a cell. Make sure he gets some food. No one but Okoye or I may visit him for now.”

“I don’t think she’s speaking to me right now,” W’Kabi said. 

"Well, when she decides to I don't want any part in standing in her way.”

That made the other man chuckle. “No. You absolutely do not. She was ready to run me through.”

"I know she was." Given how he was feeling, he couldn't imagine how Okoye felt. "Is there anything you'd like me to tell her?”

He looked down at the grass. “That I am so sorry for the moment she thought she’d have to.”

"I will pass it on," T'Challa promised, then nodded to the Dora to take him.

There had been a number of serious injuries, and few deaths. All of them, including the bodies, including Killmonger, had been taken to one of the city hospitals. Undertakers would handle the bodies from there. There would be burials next week.

He sent a message out to all the tribal elders, confirming to them what most of them knew—he had survived and now won the challenge, and was still King. He was relieved to get a positive acknowledgement from the Border Tribe Elder. That could have become a problem. 

Feeling he’d done all that he could, he returned to the palace, and sent a message to his mother letting her know all were safe, and he’d come get her in the morning.

He went up to his room, and found Nakia in there digging around in the closet where she kept clothes. Since she’d joined the War Dogs she hadn’t kept a place of her own in Wakanda, and when she was home she stayed mostly with him, so his closet had required quite a selection.

At the moment she was wearing only a bra and the pants to the Dora uniform she’d had on, which was not too bad a view.

He titled his head. "Can I interest you in a bath?”

She looked over at him. “That sounds so very appealing. But I just here for a change of clothes. A bunch of the Dora are going out to wash the battle away with drink. I’m going because I promised to buy a round, and also to make sure Okoye doesn’t make herself sick.”

"Ah. Well, be safe. Buy a round or three on me as well.”

“I will.” She paused. “Could you also. . . not go anywhere tonight? Nobody should have to work tonight.”

"My plans were mostly to have that bath and collapse into bed.”

She sighed. “That sounds really nice.”

"I'm sure drinking with the Dora will be entertaining as well.”

Nakia pulled herself out a dress and he got to watch her put it on. “I won’t be too late, but you don’t have to wait up.”

"All right." He imagined he wouldn't last much past collapsing in bed. "Take care of yourself.”

He turned out to be pretty much right about his level of exhaustion. He was out minutes after he laid down, and woke to her climbing into bed some hours later.

He grumbled, but held the sheets up for her. "How was it?”

“Exhausting,” she replied. “We were in a grimy lesbian dive bar with very strong drinks.”

"How is Okoye?”

“Sleeping on Ayo and Aneka’s couch. She didn’t want to go home. I don’t think I would either.” She turned to look at him. “She said from the minute Killmonger showed up, W’Kabi didn’t listen to a word she said. Addressed her as General in public. She’s pretty mad about that stuff, not just today.”

He sighed deeply. "I'm going to have to decide what to do with him. I told him there would be a trial but I think we both know it's more for show than anything else.”

“A big public spectacle would probably be embarrassing for Okoye and her family.”

"Quietly executing him for treason doesn't really seem right.”

“I don’t think there’s any method that is going to make capital punishment seem right. It’s barbaric and we shouldn’t do it at all.”

He stifled a second sigh. He was far too tired for this conversation. "Imprisonment without trial isn't any better.”

“There are probably other options available that will become apparent when our brains are fully working.”

"That's what I'm hoping.”

She rolled over to face him. “Don’t beat yourself up for not having all the answers. Yesterday you were mostly dead.”

The phrasing made him chuckle. He imagined she'd had a few drinks. "I'm doing rather well for a dead man, really.”

“Well, you have always been extraordinary.”

"Why thank you." He kissed her temple. "Now get some sleep.”

She sighed and snuggled a little closer. She made only a mumbling noise in reply, and then she was out cold.

He woke the next morning later than he would have liked. Nakia was still sleeping peacefully, so he crept to the bathroom as quietly as he could to wash up and get dressed. He had a great deal to do today, and while he was sure she had things to see to as well, she deserved a bit more rest before getting to them.

He was not sure exactly how much of his survival he owed to her, but he knew it to be a great deal—and probably more than she’d take credit for if he asked her. She’d smuggled his mother and sister to safety, brought the Heart Shaped Herb to the mountains to save his life, then collected all the necessary intel, arranged their transport, marshaled support from the other tribes, and then took on Killmonger himself and held her own. In no way could he have done this without her.

When the dust had settled a bit more, they were going to revisit the idea of her staying here with him. And he was going to use every trick he knew to get her to agree. 

He’d thought he still needed his father, to figure out how to be a good king. But he was going to be a different kind of king, and for that he needed her. To challenge him. To be his voice of reason. 

“Mmm,” she mumbled from the blankets. “You’re staring.”

"You're mesmerizing," he replied, bending to kiss her. "But I didn't mean to wake you.”

“I might go back to sleep, honestly.”

"Good. You need your rest.”

“So do you,” she replied. “I know you have things to do today. Just don’t. . . don’t do anything irrevocable until you’ve had some time to rest.”

"I know." He hadn't been planning to tackle anything too weighty, but a reminder was good. "I'm going to get Mother and check on Shuri and any Dora that show up. Then I'll see what comes. I'm sure the Council Elders will want to talk to me.”

“I imagine so.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “Call me if you need me.”

"I will," he promised, squeezing back. "Let me know your schedule once you're up.”

She smiled up at him. “Maybe later today we can have a rain check on that bath.”

"That sounds like an excellent reward at the end of what is surely going to be a terrible day.”

“Well. . . at least it will probably be better than yesterday.”

"That is an extremely low bar.”

Nakia shrugged. “The day before yesterday was the worst day of my life, so I’m happy with any progress.”

He kissed her gently. "I promise to stay alive all day today.”

The first thing he decided to do was go check on Shuri. Yesterday had been very intense, and if he and Nakia were still this rattled, he could only imagine how she was. She was still only 16.

As it turned out, his mother had gotten herself back from Jabari Land without him. “I still have some friends willing to send me a shuttle,” she told him with a smile, getting up to hug him. Shuri was asleep on the couch across from her.

"You have always been resourceful, Mama." He held her tightly. "How is she?" he asked with a gesture to Shuri when they parted.

“Having nightmares. But otherwise holding together well. When the dust settles we’ll find her someone to talk to.”

He nodded. "I never wanted her to be part of something like this. To be on the front lines with me.”

She sighed. “There have been so many things I never wanted in the last week and a half that I don’t even know where to start.”

"I know." He rubbed her back gently. "We are all together. That's what matters.”

“I know you must have a lot to do. But come out and sit with me on the lanai for a little bit, first. Eat some breakfast.”

"Of course," he said, following her onto the patio. He would have agreed to just about anything she asked at this point.

She got him some sweet buns and a plate full of fruit. It was too much sugar this early in the morning, but exactly the sort of thing Shuri would ask for. He expected that was why it had been made. “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

"Better than I have any right to be." He munched a few berries before adding, "It helps to have things to do.”

“Have you seen Nakia?”

"Yes," he said, wondering if saying more would get a lecture.

“She was amazing. I don’t know how she had the presence of mind to get us to safety, to save the Herb, to keep us moving and in decent spirits on that long miserable walk.” 

"She is a remarkable woman," he said proudly.

“There was something in her that you could see, even when she was a little girl. It’s why your father and I chose her, so to speak. She would be the sort of queen who would make you a better king.”

"I agree." She gave him a look and he grinned. "I'm working on it.”

“I don’t imagine she will be satisfied with ceremonial duties. 

"No. She has a calling and a purpose in life, helping others. I'll need to find an outlet for that." He looked out at the jungle. "We need to change.”

“Would you have us take on the problems of the world?”

"Perhaps not all of them. But we can't hide here anymore. There's a line between caution and complicity and we have passed it.”

She sighed. “We probably did a long time ago.” She was a quiet for a bit, also looking out at the jungle. “Your grandfather watched the second world war. Watched the terrifying weapons they made. Watched the powers build their nuclear arsenals and seem perfectly content to destroy the entire planet over their petty territorial and ideological disputes. And he decided those people could not be trusted to know about vibranium, and more importantly that they didn’t deserve to. Deception became a goal unto itself. That is the environment your father was raised in.”

"It's still dangerous. I don't intend to post Shuri's blue prints on the internet. But there are good people in the world, people trying to save it. They deserve our help, our resources.”

“You are figuring out what kind of king you will be.”

"I'm trying to.”

“I have faith in you, my son.”

He smiled. "Thank you, Mama." He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "I will still look to you for guidance. Especially in the ways of wooing women.”

“I hope you are not wooing any additional ones.”

"I like to keep my options open," he teased, dodging her playful swat.

“Being a king is a full time job, you know. You should probably have someone else handle whatever outreach you plan on doing. Perhaps someone with experience with the outside world.”

He stopped with a berry halfway to his mouth and stared at her a moment. "That's a great idea.”

“I have them from time to time. I did advise a king for 35 years.”

"And I shall pray you do so for another thirty five.”

She laughed. “We’ll see about that.” She stole a berry from him. “For as long as I am still here, I will happily give you my opinion if you wish it. But that seat to the left of the throne isn’t mine anymore.”

"I agree. And I think I have an idea of how to keep her in it.”

“I have faith in you.”


	13. Chapter 13

Shuri slept through the rest of their meal, so he told Mother to give her his love and went to deal with the tribal leaders. The Border tribe wanted to know what he would do with W'Kabi, which he still hadn't decided. The Mining Tribe was grateful he was back and wanted the Merchants punished for not choosing a side. The Merchant Tribe hoped he understood their caution. The River tribe had been kept up to speed by Nakia, so they were the easiest, expressing their relief that he was back on the throne.

They were all a bit perturbed when he informed them he would be inviting the Jabari to the council table.

Afterwards he went to meet with N’Gami, head of the War Dogs, to make sure that the three who’d gone rogue would be brought in. Then Okoye came to see him to report on casualties from the battle.

"I will write to their families," he told her after she listed the Dora they'd lost. "And make sure they are taken care of.”

She nodded. “Thank you."

"How are you, Okoye?" he asked softly.

She looked at him a moment, then apparently decided to answer honestly. “Still a little hungover and desperately avoiding my own house.”

He nodded. "You are welcome to a room in the palace. Perhaps next to Nakia's? You could have a slumber party.”

That got him a raised eyebrow. “Does that still exist? Has she ever slept in it?”

"There is technically a room saved for her and no, probably not.”

“It’s not the worst idea.” She paused, then asked, “What are you going to do with him?”

"I'm still deciding." He studied her. "Do you have any suggestions?”

“I have got to be the worst person to ask.”

"Possibly," he conceded. "But Nakia pointed out certain options - like a trial - might be painful and embarrassing for you and your family. I don't want to add to your worries.”

“It absolutely would be. But whatever you do, you must do in public, openly. Or you’ll just prove him right.”

"I know. No more shadows."

“I guess the second question becomes. . . what are you goals? Simply to punish? To make an example and scare others? To assert power? To serve your personal sense of betrayal?—which I do admit to understanding very intimately.”

It was a very good question. "Up until he saw me alive and backed Killmonger anyway, I don't believe he did anything wrong. His wishes had always aligned with what Killmonger wanted to do. And for a day there, he was the true king. But he turned against me and the country. I could forgive the first, eventually. Not the second. That needs punishment, of some sort.”

“You know, I supported that bastard until I knew you were alive,” she said, then added, “Though it just about killed me to do so. I wish I could tell you he was just as conflicted.”

"You were supporting the throne. Your loyalty to Wakanda is never in doubt.”

Okoye looked out his windows for a moment. “On a personal level, I think once a couple gets to the point they are willing to kill each other—whatever the reason—the relationship cannot be saved. I expect my divorce won’t be all that messy, and I expect I’ll end up with nearly everything. I hope that afterwards he ends up miserable, alone, and broke.” She looked at T’Challa. “But I have still loved him most of my adult life, and if you’re asking for my blessing to kill him you will never get it. Public trial or no.”

"Nakia feels we are above capital punishment. I don't feel right locking him in a cage. That leaves exile, which has its own collection of problems. And so I go around and around.”

“You could send him to be broke, alone, miserable and unemployed on the border. Make him live in a hut—a real one, not the ones where there’s a bunch of real house underground. He can herd goats and witness how much better my second husband is.”

T'Challa tilted his head, considering. "There's a wildlife preserve out there could use a new fence fixer.”

“There you go,” she said, gesturing at him. “And, as much as part of me wants to beat him very intensely with a stick, leniency would probably do a lot to soothe feathers with my tribe.”

"It's the best compromise possible, I think. And gives the illusion, at least, of possible redemption.”

“You never know what the future may bring.”

"The last few weeks have certainly been unpredictable.”

Okoye sighed. “It will certainly take a while for all the shockwaves to settle.”

"Yes. For all of us." He studied her a moment. Then stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug.

“You know, this is my third hug in as many days,” she said, sounding consternated. But she hugged him back quite fiercely.

"You're set for the year then," he teased her.

“Indeed,” she said, straightening her uniform. Then she inclined her head. “My King.”

"General," he replied with a matching head tilt. She smiled at him, and left.

His beads chimed, and Shuri popped up. “Come to my lab, I have something to show you.”

Glad to see she was awake and inventing, he said, "Be right down." She grinned and her image disappeared so he left his office and headed for her lab.

When he got there, in the center of one of her tables, was a glassed-in pot under a set of lights, growing the Heart Shaped Herb.

Ad he'd really thought he'd run out of a surprises. "I thought they were burned," he said, walking to the table.

“The garden was,” she said. “I have a seed library. I didn’t tell anyone that I had this in it—when I asked for one officially, Zuri told me no. But you can’t have something that important only in one place. Backups, Brother! So I stole it. I don’t care if it’s sacrilegious. Bast will forgive me.”

"Damn right she will." He slung an arm around her. "Well done, little sister.”

“Sorry if you were excited about being the last Black Panther. There will be plenty more.”

"I am happy to share the honor, I assure you.”

“Perhaps your sons one day?” She bumped his shoulder. “I’d be a good Auntie.”

Shuri had never been one for subtlety. It was rather refreshing. "I'll see what I can do.”

“I don’t have any other siblings to pester about it, sorry.”

"You saved the Herb, you get some leeway.”

*

Nakia’s day turned out to be very busy. She somehow got roped into the logistics of the multiple military burials that would be happening, along with trying to figure out how to legally bury someone at sea, it what would have to be international waters. Then her parents demanded she come visit them, which she couldn’t begrudge them given all that had happened. Her father gave her a blow by blow of the council meeting, and her mother stuffed her with food. It was. . . comforting. It had been a long couple of days.

On her way back into the city a message from T'Challa popped up on her beads. "Meet me in the marketplace when you have a chance.”

She smiled, wondering what he was doing there, but not asking. “Will you buy me fried pastries?”

"A whole basket full.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

"I'll be waiting.”

She thought about walking, but she’d chosen her shoes in haste and so took the tram instead. When she got there, she didn’t see his contingent of Dora at the street level, so went upstairs where the fancy shops were. Maybe she’d get him to buy her better shoes. He was king now, he could do that sort of thing.

He saw her before she noticed him, coming up behind her outside one of the stores. "There you are. How was your day?"

Nakia smiled at him. “I saw my family, but also had a lot of conversations about funerals. How was yours?”

"Better than expected. I met with the tribal leaders, saw my mother and sister - Shuri has a sample of the Heart Shaped Herb we can use to rebuild the grove - and Okoye and I managed to agree on a plan for W'Kabi."

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you?” She imagined T’Challa and Okoye were the most personally betrayed by his actions, so it made sense.

"I think so. He'll be stripped of his family connections and exiled to the animal preserve on the Eastern border."

“That sounds fair. Even if part of me still wants to beat him with a stick.”

"It would probably feel good," T'Challa conceded. "Okoye seemed to be of the mind that living well was a better revenge, and so I am leaning in favor of making her happy. I doubt much will for the foreseeable future."

“I think it’s good. And I think it’s better the sooner the nation moves forward.” 

He nodded and they started strolling back towards the stairs. "My hope is that we all move forward quickly.”

Two of the Dora went down the stairs ahead of them. She was going to have to get used to this. . . guarded bubble of space. She tucked her hand into his arm as they went down themselves, on account of her wobbly shoes. “It has been a hell of a couple days. I feel like I’ve aged a couple of years.”

" _You_ feel older? I feel half dead." He grinned at her and she shook her head, separating from him to let a couple of children run up the steps. She grinned, watching them and he said, quietly, "Thank you. You saved me." She turned to look at him, and he came up a step to the one she stood on. “You saved my family. And our nation.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to thank me for. It is our duty...” She broke off, because to pretend she did what she did out of the same sense of Wakandan loyalty that Okoye operated from wasn’t particularly true. She had to be honest about that. She looked at him and said, “It was my duty to fight for what I love. I should—” 

That sentence she didn’t get to finish, because he kissed her. People were always watching him, and the royal family was very circumspect about their personal relationships. He had never once, in ten years, kissed her in public. She froze because she’d have been less surprised if he’d done a backflip.

When he leaned back he was studying her cautiously, as if he expected her to punch him. "You can't blame me," he told her. "I almost died.”

People were probably taking pictures and old biddies were probably starting to plan the wedding, but she just did not give a shit. She leaned forward to kiss him back, curving her hand behind his neck to hold him there.

When she let him go enough to lift his head she found herself grinning. T'Challa looked serious, however. "Stay," he said quietly. "I think I know a way you can still fulfill your calling.”

She wanted to. More than perhaps she’d ever wanted anything. Enough that she’d wondered if she’d be willing to be a decorative queen, and hope it would make her happy. Because she was afraid she couldn’t be happy here, and afraid she couldn’t be happy without him. Right now she wanted to ask him what exactly he meant, but there was a lump in her throat she couldn’t talk around.

"Please stay," he whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it. The longing in his eyes, in his voice, just about undid her. It was complicated, all of it. They’d been on this road for so many years. He couldn’t just throw out a task for her and make everything better. But she also couldn’t forget how she’d felt when she thought he was gone forever.

He was still waiting for a reply, watching her face intently. He still looked at her like she was water in the desert.

And she still didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him again.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the breath out of her, lifting her off her feet. She adored him, and for a moment she just wanted to soak in this, right here for all the world to see.

Eventually the kiss ended. She held onto him just as tight. “The rest of this conversation is probably for somewhere private.”

"Agreed. Shall we?" He gestured down the stairs and she followed to where the Dora had called a shuttle to take them back to the palace. 

“You’re going to need a new Royal Yacht,” she told him. “This isn’t nearly as nice.”

"It's simple and suits my needs," he replied, something she knew his father had said a time or two.

“If only all the things that met our needs were simple.”

He trailed his fingers along her arm. "Complicated is more interesting.”

She looked over at him. “You know, I didn’t get my fried pastry. Or my shoes.”

"We can start a list of things I owe you.”

“Oh, that’ll probably get long in a hurry,” she said with a laugh.

"I'm sure." He was grinning. "For example, I'm not sure how I became responsible for new shoes.”

“I thought I’d have more time to think up a reasoning.” She looked at him. “Maybe I deserve some thank you gifts.” 

"You deserve whatever you want. I will shower you in presents if you like.”

She put her head on her shoulder as the shuttle set down on the palace’s landing pad. “If all I wanted was presents we’d have gotten married many years ago.”

"True." She felt him kiss the top of her head. "Come inside and I'll tell you of my plans.”

Nakia slid her hand into his and followed him.

To her surprise, he brought her not to his bedroom, but to his office, where he used his beads to bring up a building plan. "Say hello to the first Wakandan International Outreach Center.”

She stepped closer to look at it. “Outreach?”

"To help people who would benefit from our resources. I'm not ready to open our borders. I don't think the people are, either. But you're right, we cannot let others suffer when we have so much. So we will start small and see what grows." He looked over at her. "I will need someone to oversee the social outreach.”

She felt the lump in her throat again, and turned back towards him. “You listened to me.”

"I always listen," he replied. "Sometimes I just move a little slower.”

Feeling tears sting her eyes, she wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”

He held her tightly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you.”

“I love you,” she replied, voice muffled because her face was turned into his neck. He hadn’t just found something for her to do, found some sort of job that would allow her to feel useful. He had done something she’d asked him for that she’d never really expected to get.

"Does this mean you'll take the job?”

Leaning back to look up at him, she said, “I serve at the command of my King.”

He grinned and kissed her. "I think this is the sort of job that requires new shoes.”

She laughed. “It might.” She stroked his arm. “Have you discussed this with the council? My father didn’t mention it.”

"I will be informing the council of it at a meeting tomorrow. I'd like you to be there.”

“I can do that. At least one will probably complain that I am too young for such a role. Or that you gave it to me because I share your bed. I should be there to keep my father from starting a fist fight.”

"I would appreciate that.”

“You know, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It will be, I imagine, a very prestigious position.” 

"It will. As will the science and technology outreach supervisor position I offer Shuri.”

“Didn’t you also offer to put M’Baku on the council?”

"I _did_. I'm being very kingly today.”

“He will doubtlessly object to Shuri, and then the council will have heart attacks and possibly collapse.” She grinned at him. “You are figuring out what kind of king you wish to be, aren’t you.”

"A bossy one, yes.”

She watched him a moment, then asked, “So, what now?”

He seemed to think a moment. "For the country? Or for us?”

Nakia leaned against his desk. “You seem to have a decent outline of the first one.”

"Well, I have some thoughts on the second, but I should probably get your input, first.”

“You asked me to stay,” she said. “I’m staying.”

"Then perhaps it's time I bring your father some livestock.”

That made her chuckle. “Our traditions really aren’t very romantic, are they?”

"Not really, no." T'Challa reached out and took her hand, brushing a kiss along her knuckles. "Would you be my queen?”

“I am stubborn as I ever was, you know.” Seemed polite to issue a final warning on that. He had been concerned, after all.

"I'm beginning to think that will make you a very good queen indeed.”

“I will be the _best_ queen.”

"You will." He squeezed her hand. "We won't tell my mother.”

She kissed him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him closer. He made a very contented sound, holding her close as he kissed her back. They had orbited each other for so many years, never able to give each other up. Once she’d promised him ‘someday’ and that seemed to be here. And all she felt was happiness and peace.

When the kiss finally broke, she murmured, “Something was discussed about a bath?”

"Yes. I picked up some special soaps at the market.”

She leaned back and looked at him. “That’s what you were doing at the market? Shopping for soap?” Seemed like he ought to have people to buy his toiletries for him.

"I was looking for presents for you and Shuri and my mother. The soap was an impulse.”

“Ah.” She kissed him again. “Well I will be happy to try your fancy soaps.”

He tucked an arm around her as they walked to his rooms and started the water running in the tub. 

She sat on the edge to take shoes off. “We could invite my parents for dinner with your family and tell everyone at once. Then you can tell the council tomorrow.”

"My mother will be ecstatic.”

“So will mine.” She watched him take his shirt off, then stood and presented him her back so he could undo her dress’s back fastenings. “The council will likely take better to the notion of my running outreach activities if they are framed as official duties of the new Queen.”

"You know, I do occasionally think my plans through," he told her, nimble fingers swiftly undoing the ties and easing the dress down.

“Oh, I see. This is just part of your complicated political dealings.” She sighed as his hand stroked her skin. “I am but a pawn.” 

"Nonsense. You're a queen. Strongest piece on the board.”

She turned a little. “I’m joking, you know. I have never doubted what I am to you.”

"Good." He kissed her. "I look forward to our future.”

They stayed in the bath until the water got cool and they ran out of energy. Maybe it was the River Tribe in her, but celebrating the plans they’d made and reconnecting after the traumatic couple of days felt particularly perfect in the water. When she melted into him, he lifted her out of the tub, wrapped them both in towels and carried her to bed.

“We could invite the families for breakfast tomorrow instead,” she offered, because she didn’t want to move or dress.

"I'll send a message to my assistant," he told her, kissing her forehead.

“You’re a good king,” she told him, turning to nuzzle her face into his shoulder.

"I hope to be an even better husband."

She smiled against his skin. “Someday a good father, too.”

"I hope so.”

*

It was a very busy couple of months. 

There were, to start, a string of burials, including the very complicated one belonging to T’Challa’s cousin. It took a while for the priests to figure out to have a proper burial at sea. Despite everything that happened, a proper burial and conveyance to the ancestral plane was the right of every Wakandan. No matter what they’d done.

His uncle deserved the same burial—the priests assured him it was never too late as long as some part of the body was recovered. This resulted in a clandestine trip to California, Nakia getting involved in protracted process with so many levels of local bureaucracy that she gave up and called Agent Ross for help, and then airlifting an exhumed coffin back to Wakanda.

T’Challa hoped the both of them found some kind of peace. 

While in California, he bought the condemned building where his father had killed his uncle—and a couple more buildings nearby—to house the first Outreach Center. He would start his family’s penance right here.

Back home, he had a hundred strategy meetings—with the Council, with the Tribes individually, with every corner of his military and government, with scientific and economic experts. He made a series of announcements to the nation about the coming changes, and opened periods of public comments. The reception was better than expected, though there was plenty of controversy.

He sent W’Kabi out to clean a national park, and granted Okoye her divorce by royal decree so she wouldn’t have to go through the court system. Shuri replanted the Heart Shaped Herb in the garden and it grew like mad. M’Baku joined the Council and lived up to his promise to disagree often. But it was good. Change was good.

Just before the rainy season began, he let a very old woman in an robe covered in fish bones carefully paint him in mud. Shuri teased him until she got her own mud coating—though it was nowhere near as thorough. The River Tribe lifted the vibranium dams to flood the reservoir and reveal the falls. No challenge or combat waited for him in the sacred pool this time.

He hoped not, anyway.

Shuri stood at his side as he waited for Nakia to appear from the caves. "Don't freeze," she whispered.

"You be quiet," he whispered back.

Nakia came into the sunlight in a wispy green dress covered in beads that sparkled in the light. She too had been painted in river mud—a tradition of her tribe she’d said was non-negotiable—though it looked much more elegant on her. She was as mesmerizing as the day he’d met her.

She reached his spot, standing in front of Sope, the head priestess. T'Challa grinned, just staring at her and completely missed when Sope began the ceremony, causing his sister to nudge him.

He spent most of the ceremony staring, but she stared back so he decided it was okay. It was just barely dawn, and the rising sun bathed them in warm, pink light. At the end of the ceremony, they knelt down in the water to wash the mud off each other’s skin. It was oddly intimate, despite how many people lined the cliffs and sang hymns while they did it.

Sope dedicated their union to Bast as the last of the mud washed away and he leaned in to kiss Nakia for the first time as her husband. 

She held his face in her hands and rubbed her thumbs over his cheeks. “Hello,” she whispered.

"Hello," he replied. "My queen.”

People were cheering, but neither of them moved. “Now you’re really stuck with me.”

"Good." He took her hands and helped her to her feet. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She slid her hand into his. “Likewise.”

He kissed her again, light and sweet, then turned to the crowd, raising their linked hands. "Wakanda forever!”

The party that followed lasted past sunset. They spent a week up at the Lake House. It was little like time unwinding. They had nothing much to do, and it was probably the first time that either of them had more than a few minutes to relax in months.

"We should make this a regular thing," he said on their last night, laying in bed with the windows open. "Prioritize vacation time.”

She turned her head towards him. “I’ve heard it’s important for people with stressful jobs.”

"It will make us better at our jobs in the long run.”

“I think it’s a good idea. Things are about to get very interesting around here, and that’s not going to lighten up any time soon. The better we remain grounded, the better the country does.”

"I think 'interesting' is going to be a running theme of our reign.”

She rolled her whole body over to face him. “You know it is technically _your_ reign.”

"Technicalities." He waved a dismissive hand. "My mother was happy to be an ear, but didn't want a leading role in the running of the nation. I don't see you taking a back seat, nor should you.”

Nakia grinned. “Strong opinions are not something I am lacking.”

"You are my wife, my partner. In all things. I would not be here without you.”

“I would not wish to be here without you.” She gave him a long, slow kiss, then said, “Ours.”

A week later, he held her hand as he walked across the floor of the UN. It had not occurred to him to _not_ have her with him, but he also realized his mother had never accompanied his father on any of his diplomatic trips. Nakia would be a different queen.

It also stirred some bad memories, being there, and having her at his side settled him. Shuri had insisted all of them—Ayo and Okoye included—wear vibranium-laced clothing and necklaces that would spew out a cocoon much like his suit. The odds of there being a bomb again were incredibly small, and the rebuilt room was practically a bunker now. But her scars ran just as deep as his. She hadn’t wanted to come, and he’d have been nervous to bring her, vibranium or no.

Part of him wished his sister had been there, though, to see the look on that pompous white man’s face—“What does a nation of farmers have to offer the world?”—when he’d shown them the demo.

“I filmed it for her,” Nakia said to him after all the shouted questions were finally through, like she’d read his mind. She often did.

“She already put it on youtube,” Okoye muttered. Wardrobe had convinced her to wear heels, and she was grumpy about it.

“Come on, come on,” Nakia said. “I want to find some coffee before we go back to the hotel.”

“I want Starbucks,” Okoye replied.

“You know that’s terrible coffee, right?” Nakia asked

“I’m here for the heavy cream and six flavors of sugar.”

“Oh, fine.” Nakia linked her arm through Okoye’s and they strolled down the hall. 

It was about to be a whole new world. He could go have some terrible coffee first.


End file.
